


(A Place) Where the Moonlight Does Not Hurt

by taro_ghost



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Remus Lupin, Hurt/Comfort, I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders vs Slytherin Gang, Marauders' Era, Oblivious, Possible Character Death, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Werewolf Remus Lupin, Young Sirius Black, he's just a pure cinnamon roll, i abuse them, i use a lot of em dashes i know, idk if the ending will be sad, remus pretends he doesn't want anything but you know, sirius black has a sister, therefore i do not know if it will be angst with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13845006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taro_ghost/pseuds/taro_ghost
Summary: **ON HIATUS :/ UNTIL SPRING 2019, sorry!**Some of Remus's mousy brown hair fell in front of his eyes as he looked at her earnestly, and Cyren was filled, not for the first time, with an incredible urge to wail like Moaning Myrtle. Or an uprooted mandrake. Yes, more like the mandrake. She wouldn’t be surprised if her Patronus, once she finally managed to cast a discernable one, would take the form of a shrieking mandrake.OR: where Sirius has a younger sister, and her Sixth Year consists mostly of dealing with the Slytherin gang and pretending she isn't going to miss the Marauders next year—namely, one mousy-haired, lanky boy who never fails to fall ill once a month.**previously titled "Heart of a Wolf"**





	1. running late

**Author's Note:**

> **previously titled "Heart of a Wolf"**
> 
> Hello! So this is my first story on AO3...I've been reading on here for a while but I haven't written fan fiction in ages oh gods...i wrote like one fic for The Outsiders and a lot of unfinished stuffs for Teen Wolf and PJO...and made a handful of videos for TRC. If any of those interest you, maybe we should talk!!
> 
> and this is my first HP story, brought on by my roommates slowly marathoning the movies again...and me realizing how much I really, really love Remus. Like he's almost overshadowing Sirius, but Sirius has seniority; ugh, my loves 
> 
> (and maybe someday I'll write Wolfstar, but I'm starting off with an OC to flesh out Remus, then maybe another fic with Sirius/OC to get into Sirius, and then...I'll be ready....maybe) 
> 
> ALSO YES I KNOW IT"S KINDA CHEESY AND OBVIOUS FROM THE BEGINNING EVEN THOUGH I TAGGED SLOW BURN BUT I"M TRYING because slow burn is the best burn. the best thing ever, period.

Cyren tried very hard not to pant heavily as she and Sirius appeared on the other side of Platform 9 ¾. Instead of berating her brother (her older brother!) she hastily attempted to calm her breathing and look as nonchalant as possible. 

“You—never do that again,” she hissed to him exasperatedly. 

Sirius barely heard her, his bright eyes scanning—and then the whistle blew as the Hogwarts Express slowly began to slide down the tracks. 

“No!” Cyren wailed, but her dismay was cut short as Sirius grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the moving train. 

She stumbled after him, trying to avoid the looks of eager or pitiful onlookers waving goodbye to their loved ones. Under her breath, Cyren swore that she would kill Sirius for this. Even if he was only a year older, he was supposed to be responsible. Of course, he was anything but. She had pestered him about coming to the station at least 15 minutes early, but Sirius had put it off until the very last minute. 

“Come on, keep up!” her brother tugged eagerly on her arm, and Cyren’s blush deepened as she narrowly avoided twisting her legs—awful legs, they were—and tripping herself mid-run. 

By now, some students were peering outside the windows at them—cheering them on, laughing. Of course, of all brothers, she had to have Sirius Black. Not that she didn’t love him, and their lives had become substantially better after being both admitted to Gryffindor and both disinherited by their mother—but sometimes, she wish Sirius could tone it down a bit. But then, Cyren supposed he wouldn’t be Sirius Black anymore. Sirius Orion Black did not tone things down, ever. 

As Cyren finally picked up her eyes from the ground, she saw a pair of wriggling arms from an open door—James Potter, of course. 

“Come on Padfoot, hurry up! You’ve gotten slow over the summer, you lazy bum!” James bellowed maniacally at Sirius, and Cyren wanted to groan. 

She was about to miss the Hogwarts Express, and James was treating it like any other prank or adventure. Sirius’s laugh rang high and ragged, mixing in with the loud train and hundreds of voices all around them. Cyren prayed that Merlin would mercifully kill her any moment now. James was right in front of her now, with Peter, looking probably just as frantic as her, and Remus almost as calm as always. 

Sirius shoved her forward, and her brain blanked at the sight of arms stretched out toward her. 

“Cyren, we need your hands—unless you’re going to Apparate onto this train!” James barked at her as he edged toward the other side of the door to reach for Sirius. 

Cyren realized that Remus’s arms were still outstretched to her. Fumbling, she reached out with her one free hand, the other one tightening her clutch on the suitcase. In some swift way, Remus managed to swoop her up—swoop, really, like she was some doll—and she was wondering why her arm wasn’t torn off already, because yanking a person by their arm onto a moving train sounded pretty painful. And then Cyren noticed how close she was standing to Remus. He’d somehow picked her up into the train without tearing her arm off, and in the midst of that, reached for her suitcase too—good thinking, otherwise that heavy baggage surely would have ripped off her other arm and then maybe she would have made it onto the Hogwarts Express, but leaving an arm and a suitcase bouncing on the platform behind after her—

“You look petrified,” Peter stated bluntly, and Cyren wanted to kick him because minutes ago they were basically equally afraid—and he hadn’t even had to chase after a train! 

“Hello to you, too,” she wheezed, and the chest that she was almost pressed against shook with visible laughter.

Cyren remembered how close she was standing to Remus—how had he even managed to pull her up to him like that, so smoothly—and immediately began blubbering as she disentangled herself from the boy. 

“Thank you, Remus,” she nodded to him, noting how quickly he murmured back his affirmation, “that was quite swift and painless.” 

“You’re shaking like a leaf!” James punched her lightly in the arm, and she scowled. 

Sirius was rubbing his left arm, albeit grinning madly, “Wish I’d gotten Remus to pull me in; I’d say you’re the one getting weak, James. You almost left me behind!” 

“You’re heavy! I could lift Cyren with two fingers,” James retorted. 

Cyren rolled her eyes as she dragged her suitcase into the open compartment in front of her. Amidst all the commotion and adrenaline, she had almost forgotten the thing that had been haunting her all summer long—that she was a Sixth Year now, and it’d be her last year with the Marauders at Hogwarts. Glumly staring out the window as the countryside came into view, Cyren let out an uneasy sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaand that's the first chapter. I think my chapters are really short...if this gets any views/followship at all, I'd like to let you know that this is actually ongoing and I only started writing like two days ago (the nervousness settles in??) I have finals coming up, but you know, blurry lines with prioritization and procrastination.
> 
> i have the second chapter already done (also short), but it looks like it's going to be more like once-a-week or once-every-two-weeks updating, or maybe sporadic...you know how authors can be sometimes with their updating promises, so no promises until I figure out how my pace really is for this story.
> 
> pls feel free to talk to me in the comments! i'd love to hear anything you have to say at all! and if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! stay wicked


	2. on crushes and chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a small chap, still on the train. sorry the first and second chapters have both been really short! i wrote two more sort of longer ones though, so don't think that short chapters are particularly characteristic of me!
> 
> also i am an avid supporter of Marauder Era!Remus carrying chocolate on himself--in his robes, school bags--at all times at Hogwarts and offering it to people to make them feel better. such a sweet boi 
> 
> ** I changed Lyra to Cyren because those were the two options I started with and since Cyren is pronounced like "siren" and so Cyren and Sirius have the same sound at the beginning...and they're siblings... Not that her name has that kind of symbolic meaning; i didn't imagine her as some kind of vixen.

The Marauders piled into the compartment raucously. Normally each compartment would sit four people comfortably, but nobody minded Cyren—and she didn’t mind being a little squished either. She gently bit her bottom lip in a forced attempt to feign indifference when Remus slid in next to her. Peter perched at the edge of the seat next to him while James and Sirius jostled one another into the other side.

Cyren tried to subtly scoot closer to the window, but Remus followed after her, mistaking her move as an action out of consideration for Peter.

“Mm, thanks, Peter murmured, his nose twitching.

Cyren nodded at him, a haphazard smile pulling at one side of her mouth while her face began to warm ever so slightly as she realized Remus was now closer to her than he had been before she scooted—or maybe that was just her imagination, but what did it mean if he was? But was he really?

 _Oh Merlin, save me,_ Cyren pleaded internally. Overanalyzing her crush while he was right next to her was not how she wanted to spend the last train ride to Hogwarts with the Marauders. So she slumped toward the window, her cheek plastered against the cold glass as the scenery flew by. The boys’ conversation flitted in and out of her ears as trees and hills whooshed by, Cyren becoming inexplicably grumpier by the moment.

Remus turned to look at her curiously, “Okay there, Cyren?”

Cyren made some affirmative grumble as Remus studied her. Then he was fumbling through his pockets; all the boys had gotten up and changed into robes at some point while she was glaring at the countryside, Cyren realized. It wasn’t even a breath when he pulled out a bar of chocolate—already opened, of course—and offered it to her.

“Want some? You’ll feel better,” he said softly.

Some of his mousy brown hair fell in front of his eyes as he looked at her earnestly, and Cyren was filled, not for the first time, with an incredible urge to wail like Moaning Myrtle. Or an uprooted mandrake. Yes, more like the mandrake. She wouldn’t be surprised if her Patronus, once she finally managed to cast a discernable one, would take the form of a shrieking mandrake.

Cyren gently broke off a small piece and smiled politely at him, “Thanks Remus.”

“Hey, me too!” Sirius called out as Remus was about to put the bar back into his pocket.

“Yes, you have three other precious friends right here,” James said sternly.

“You guys don’t need any,” Remus replied, to loud protests.

“Hey, I can be feeling down too! I’m just trying to avoid thinking about it, the fact that I will be separated from my dearest—” he batted his eyelashes at Cyren, who flicked her wand to send a jet of water at Sirius’s face, “dearest, younger sister. Who’s going to be looking after poor Cyren Astrid Black when we’re gone?”

“I can look after myself,” Cyren muttered, rolling her eyes, “More like, who’s going to look after you blokes, out there in the wizarding world, when I’m stuck in Seventh Year?”

“Ah, don’t worry, we can sneak back whenever we miss you—or even better, smuggle you out!” James replied, a glint already in his eyes at the prospect.

“Are you really sad that it’s our last year together?” Peter asked Cyren bluntly, his mouth full of chocolate because Remus had conceded to sharing.

Peter received a playful thwack on the back of the head from James. “Of course she is, Wormy; we’re wonderful people. Everyone’s going to miss us.”

“Goddamit Peter, chew with your mouth closed. Especially when eating chocolate,” Sirius scolded in dismay.

Cyren shrugged noncommittally at Peter’s question, grateful that James and Sirius started listing people who would miss their presence at Hogwarts once the year ended (McGonagall was first). She turned toward the window again, until a nudge came from her left.

Remus was sliding a second piece of chocolate to her, discreetly, and Cyren bit her bottom lip— _again, damn it_ —as her hand brushed lightly against his.

“Hope you feel better soon,” Remus whispered, a faint grin on his face.

Cyren couldn’t help but beam back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **In case you missed it in the chap summary! I changed OC's name from Lyra to Cyren! (pronounced like siren) so the Black siblings can have some alliteration of sorts...**
> 
> I can't decided what day I want to publish. I'm 99% sure I can update weekly. I'm thinking maybe Thursday...or maybe Tuesday? Weekdays seem like a good time to update because I love it when my fics update on a weekday...it's like something to keep you going amidst school RIP
> 
> so as I try to figure it out, I may be publishing at odd days. also the 20 chapters is a rough estimate. it will be at least 10 for sure.


	3. midnight gingersnaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no Remus in this one, but he's coming up again soon!

The door creaked slightly as Cyren crept excitedly into the school kitchens. It was quieter than usual, until she reached the main kitchen where most of the house elves where congregated and talking amongst themselves. At her appearance there was a flurry of panicked movement, as if they had been caught doing something wrong. When they realized who the visitor was, a couple elves rushed forward gleefully.

“Cyren Black! Biddy happy to see you!”

Biddy, Cyren’s closest elf friend, was the first to reach her and grabbed three of her fingers, shaking them vigorously.

Cyren laughed as her other friends greeted her.

“Miss Black is growing very big,” another elf, Hadley, mused, “Eighteen, no?”

Cyren nodded as she hugged Hadley too. She then reached into her bag, pulling out bundles of cards she’d made over the summer. It was always hard to get the house elves presents. Some of them took offense to being given clothing and they had all the food they could want. So, Cyren had begun a tradition of giving them small things, usually handmade, and found that they were usually delighted. This summer she had pressed flowers and sealed them into cards. It was the least she could do for her friends that were actually more like mothers—feeding her and listening to her troubles.

A chair was pushed toward her, as the elves forced her to sit down and tell them about her summer. Somewhere in the middle of her talking, a plate appeared with a slice of treacle tart and a glass of warm milk. Biddy slid in a few ginger snaps as well when Cyren wasn’t watching. It had taken a while since she found the kitchens and the elves in her second year, but by now they didn’t try to make her mountains of food. Cyren only wanted to come visit them to talk, not to be pampered with endless and free food. Besides, the nighttime was one of their longest periods of rest and break.

“So, nothing much. It was a lot of moping,” Cyren eyed Biddy hastily shoving two more gingersnaps into her plate at the mention of moping, “because my brother and his friends won’t be here next year. But, I guess I should find out how to be more independent this year, you know? And I’ll always have you guys.”

The elves seated around her nodded amicably.

“Although James Potter and Sirius Black eats much more than Miss Black,” an elf named Roggo piped up, “Very healthy boys.”

“We miss them a little next year. A little!” squeaked another voice from the back, while some other elves hit him over the head.

Cyren laughed, dipping another gingersnap into her milk, which was somehow refilling itself back to the brim every time she looked away.

“But Cyren misses…Remus Lupin most next year?” Biddy asked shyly.

Cyren blushed, to much chittering and giggles from the elves.

“Y—yes. I suppose most of the summer was spent moping over him too.”

Some of the elves clicked their tongues in sympathy, shaking their heads.

Cyren shrugged noncommittally, “What can I do?”

“Tell him!” Roggo replied enthusiastically, starting a chorus of chants echoing him.

“No, no, no,” Cyren muttered, laughing and shaking her head furiously.

Biddy piled more gingersnaps into Cyren’s plate, “Cyren must eat more then, if she does not tell Remus Lupin!”

Cyren obliged, somewhat grudgingly, and then urged the house elves to tell her about their summer. The majority of them had stayed at Hogwarts, maintaining the premises and enjoying relatively peaceful days without students. Hogsmeade had suffered more Death Eater attacks—she’d heard of a couple cases on the news—and Dumbledore was growing a bit more concerned, the merpeople in the Black Lake had undergone some coup d’état, and one of the giant spiders from the Forbidden Forest had somehow made its way into the castle (and Hagrid had to coax it out). And the Divination teacher was still stealing meatloaves from the kitchens this year, it seemed.

As the stories died down, Cyren found herself rubbing at her eyes.

“Cyren is tired! Cyren goes to bed right now!” Biddy declared, and someone began to tug at the chair.

The elves began to clear, squeaking their goodbyes to Cyren. A small bag of gingersnaps was shoved into her hand as multiple elves began pushing her toward the door, amidst her halfhearted protests.

“Thank you!” she whispered, waving to all of them as she ducked back out into the castle.

Cyren was scampering soundlessly back to the Gryffindor tower when she heard voices on the staircase beneath her. She froze, plastering herself against the wall. The painting behind her grumbled something sleepily, but Cyren turned and shot a pleading look to the wizard in the painting. Thankfully, he agreed to keep quiet, and Cyren held her own breath as the voices neared. She was standing in the shadows, so if they didn’t look too close, she would be safe.

“What I’m saying is, I think—” a scratchy voice whispered, until it was interrupted by a higher voice.

“That’s the problem Avery; you don’t really think.”

“Oh, fuck off Mulciber. It is possible! She may be only one person, but she’s salvageable and it’s the right thing to do,” the first voice hissed.

“It is the right thing,” echoed a third, deeper voice, as Avery huffed satisfactorily at the validation.

Avery, Mulciber, and Rosier, Cyren realized with distaste and dread. As the Slytherin gang came closer, the stairs they were ascending swung toward Cyren, then over her head. The conversation grew quieter again as the boys grew farther away. Cyren strained her ears to catch onto Rosier’s next words.

“Yes, Cyren Black, she needs it…”

Cyren’s heart began jackrabbiting uncontrollably in her chest. They’d said her name; anything afterward had been too quiet to discern, but her name had been unmistakable. What could they possibly want with her?

Shaken, Cyren tried her best to make it back to the tower. Luckily, she did not run into anyone again because she stumbled over her own feet a number of times before she found herself in front of the Fat Lady.

“Gillyweed,” Cyren quickly whispered, before the Fat Lady could ask where she'd been.

The door swung open (with a barely audible scoff of annoyance from the Fat Lady) and Cyren scurried inside.

 _They said my name, theysaidmyname,_ she thought to herself. Whatever for? What did she need—what did they think she needed? Were they going to attack her for being a blood traitor? Were they plotting for next year when the Marauders weren’t here? James and Sirius were always very good at hexing the Slytherins away, not that she had ever been truly afraid of the Slytherins—they only talked about her being a blood traitor and disappointment behind her back.

The animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin was already clearly established, but between the Marauders and the Slytherin gang—Snivellus and his little Death Eater friends, James and Sirius called them—it was most malicious.

As Cyren slid under her cool bed cover, her heart was still pounding away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm considering changing the name of the work...not sure though. I don't really like this one but I can't think of anything much better. 
> 
> also, I guess updating Thursdays?


	4. lakeside levitation

This year, Cyren had a reasonable gap of time between Transfiguration and Herbology that she intended to make good use of—for swimming. Sprout wouldn’t mind if she came to class with wet hair, either.

Her favorite swimming spot was a small side of the Black Lake. The water in that particular spot was relatively quite clear and clean, with no nasty algae or unidentified, suspicious forms lurking about. Sometimes Cyren would swim out quite far, until thoughts of the merpeople, giant squid, and other to-be-identified beasts of the lake broke through her purposeful repression. Then, she would splash hurriedly and most ungracefully back to shore, imagining horrible creatures rising from the depths of the lake to chase after her.

This section of the lake was also warmer than other parts of the lake—not in an unsettling lukewarm piss way, just satisfyingly cool. Stripping off her robes, Cyren patted at her wand in the pocket before gingerly placing a folded towel over the robes. Even more carefully, she laid her glasses on top of the towel. She always wrapped her wand in her clothes, but there were never that many people around during the times she’d gone swimming in the lake, if any. Not that anyone would bother to steal her wand, unless it was the Marauders, and they certainly had much better things than watching her swim. On especially hot weekends, the whole group would go swimming, but usually it was just Cyren.

As she stepped into the cool water, Cyren shivered. Goosebumps began pricking up across her skin and she rubbed her hands against her bathing suit for a smidge of warmth. When the water reached the top of her ribs, Cyren dove in. The cold enveloped her graciously, and she felt herself sliding into a more comfortable state as she kicked and wriggled underwater. Finally coming up for air, the small witch delighted in the cold rush with a shaky inhale.

A good amount of time was spent simply floating on her back, reveling in the sunlight and making shapes of the clouds as they drifted by. Sometimes, there would be strange sounds or students passing by, talking loudly, but having her ears partly submerged in the water as she floated blocked out most of the annoying noises.

“OI, BLACK!” a voice yelled.

Cyren frowned, flipping over deftly, and once wetting her hair, turned toward the shore. Without her glasses, it was hard to make out the figures. The Marauders and most of her friends never called her by her last name, and the figures in the distance seemed to be three people much taller than her—although, being five feet tall, almost everyone was taller than her. Cyren slowly doggy-paddled her way back to shore, hesitantly, trying to figure out exactly who had showed up. Shortly before she hit the shallows where she would be able to stand, Cyren realized it was the Slytherin gang from a few nights ago—Mulciber, Avery, and Rosier.

“What do you want?” Cyren asked dubiously, stilling in the water.

“Just to talk, Black,” Mulciber huffed.

Cyren narrowed her eyes at them—although it was mostly because their exact expressions were a bit fuzzy still—and did not move forward. Avery, seeing this, made to move closer to the water. Instinctively, Cyren began to tread backwards in the lake.

“Don’t antagonize us like that; you have nothing to be afraid of,” Rosier called out to her as he placed a hand on Avery’s shoulder.

Cyren wrinkled her nose at Rosier, ever the smooth talker. She wasn’t sure if she disliked him the most out of all because of his unsettling slyness—he was very obviously the brains of the group—or because her mother had basically arranged her to marry Rosier. He still very much believed that was going to happen, despite Cyren being disinherited. The idea of marrying Rosier, with or without making pureblood babies, made Cyren want to curl up into a ball. It didn’t really help when Sirius teased that Evan could be a very distant cousin to them. As if on cue, her skin prickled with gooseflesh all over again.

He was always cold and calculating—lies and pureblood propaganda slithering out of his mouth—or downright malicious. Cyren had witnessed him in duels against the Marauders. But even while hexing, he was still eerily composed, only more visibly violent. Otherwise, he glided around Hogwarts as if he’d never done anything wrong in his life. His conscience and composure infuriated her, with a secret agenda like that. The suspected Death Eaters—or soon-to-be Death Eaters—that still remained at Hogwarts probably owed a lot to him; he was as slippery as a snake in the water and just as deadly.

“What do you want?” Cyren repeated, firmly.

Mulciber stepped up, clearing his voice, “We’d like to offer you a chance to return to the right side.”

Cyren rolled her eyes so far, they felt like they would never correct themselves; “Okay, that’s all, boys? You can go back up to the castle now.”

She began swimming back into the lake, wanting to put as much distance between her and the Slytherins as possible, but Avery called out angrily.

“You’re not going to get many chances! Soon it’ll be too late, Black!”

Cyren leveled her glare at Avery, feeling her nostrils flare, “I have no interest of joining your side. You should know that by now. I don’t see you bothering my brother about this, but you should know that we’re very much on the same page about how we feel about your pureblood propaganda.”

“You still have a chance! It’s too late for your brother to come back…although you can convince him. Save the both of you,” Avery plowed on, ignoring her.

“We don’t need saving! Give it up and leave me alone!” Cyren yelled at him, the conversation she had eavesdropped on finally making sense; they were trying to recruit her again.

“You don’t belong with the Marauders,” Rosier said, the name pronounced like something completely foul in his mouth, “You know your real family lies in Slytherin. And your mother misses you, Cyren.”

 _What a load of hog’s piss,_ Cyren thought. Her mother would never miss her—she only wanted Cyren to stay in line, marry some dark pureblood, and have evil pureblood babies. Her mother was seemingly incapable of love.

“If you’re seeing my mother that often, maybe she’ll get over me,” Cyren sneered at him.

Rosier did not answer to that, and Cyren wondered if she had cracked the diplomatic façade he’d put on for today. If she could see Rosier throw a tantrum, that would almost make up for this whole rude interruption.

“Hey, her wand’s here!” a voice piped up, slicing through the palpable tension.

It was Mulciber, the nosy git, holding up Cyren’s robes in one hand and her wand in the other.

“Did you expect me to swim with my wand, Mulciber? Because then you must really be denser than I thought,” Cyren replied steadily.

“I’m not dense! You—you! You’re the dense one, refusing to join the winning side, Black,” Mulciber wheezed, “And…and we’re keeping your wand until you do so!”

As if to prove his determination, Mulciber shoved her wand into his pocket. What a childish tactic, Cyren thought.

“Well?” Rosier asked Cyren, and she was momentarily taken aback.

A part of her had expected Rosier to clap Mulciber on the back of his head, her wand to be returned, and the group to make their way back up to the castle. They couldn’t possibly be serious, stealing her wand?

“Well? You’re a bunch of children,” Cyren stated flatly.

“We’re doing this because we care for you, Black. It’s what’s right!” Avery shouted.

“Never!” Cyren replied, “Put my wand back, Mulciber!”

“You need more convincing, Black? Well, we don’t have all day,” Avery threatened, pulling his wand out.

“No amount of convincing,” Cyren started, “or threatening is going to bring me to the dark side. Why don’t you go recruit someone else willing to join your Death Eater gang?”

She had been eyeing Avery’s wand all the while, but Petrificus Totalus was swift—and unexpected. And she had been so stupid, forgetting that it could be cast silently. Cyren had been expecting something darker, and then realized how cruel Avery’s intentions were once she began sinking. She couldn’t scream or thrash, her body frozen flat, arms pressed against her sides—not that she would thrash anyways, that would speed up the drowning. She had to keep calm and think. Maybe the Marauders would come rushing in now and save her, maybe a teacher or student had seen what had gone on. But the Slytherins wouldn’t just let her drown like this, would they? They couldn’t possibly be killing everyone refusing their offers to join the dark side.

Her supposition was correct, as she felt the paralysis snap off, and Cyren quickly shot up to the surface with a few kicks.

“Now, Black?” Avery yelled out immediately as she surfaced.

The dirty git sounded like he was smirking, and Cyren didn’t want to answer him right away while obviously struggling to breathe. He’d take satisfaction in that.

“Why don’t you go back to the Slytherin Commons and stare at the Black Lake there? I’d like to get back to my swimming now,” Cyren replied evenly.

“We’d like to watch you, here,” Avery said, frustration growing in his tone.

This time, Cyren managed to duck the Petrificus Totalus. She swam out as far as she could with one breath underwater, hoping it was far enough. When she came up for air she tried to be as meek as possible but several spells still hit the water dangerously close to her head. She went back underwater immediately, trying to focus on her breathing and keep calm as she swam. The problem was this was all open water. The rocks to hide behind were too far away to swim to in one breath, as well as any other stretch of shoreline. Not that she thought she would do better running away from the boys’ hexing on land by foot. It was smarter to stay in the water; they would have some difficulty pinpointing her. And their only chance to land a hit would be when she came up for air. Hopefully, in a few minutes they would grow tired of all this and leave.

But the fourth time Cyren came up for air, another Full Body-Bind hit her again. This time she stayed paralyzed for what seemed much longer than a minute, which was about the longest amount of time she could hold her breath underwater. Her heart was pounding ferociously, and then the water began to rush into her nose. Cyren tried desperately to keep her body as close to the surface as possible. It was hard to do paralyzed; her body was not her own and it kept tipping over, dragging itself deeper into the water. Her lungs were on fire, her entire body demanding release.

Then the body bind was undone, and she kicked up to the surface in a flurry. The air entering her lungs burned—everything burned—and Cyren coughed out water she had inhaled while making her way to the surface. She could barely make out the laughter on the shore from the pounding in her ears.

Cyren was hit with yet another Petrificus Totalus, not even before she had finished the coughing fit. _They really are trying to kill me,_ Cyren fumed while her body sank once again. She racked her brain for ideas, desperately trying to find a way out of this. She couldn’t manage anything without her wand however, so the only option was to try to be more careful the next time she came up for air.

When the Full Body-Bind was released, she tried going back down immediately after taking a modest gulp of air despite her body shaking with exhaust. However, the Slytherins must have decided to be more creative because she never touched the water. Instead, Cyren found herself suspended in the air.

“You look like a wet cat!” Avery howled with laughter.

Cyren was hanging upside down by her ankles, her body heaving with coughs. This was going to be absolutely one of the worst days of her life, she knew it. She had never felt so utterly helpless at the hands of someone else; it was almost as bad as being back at 12 Grimmauld Place with Walburga. If she had her wand right now, she could undo the Levicorpus with its counter-jinx, but her wand was still in Mulciber’s pocket. So, so bloody stupid, Cyren thought to herself.

And so she did the next best thing, really the _only_ thing she had left now—she screamed. They were mangled and bloodcurdling screams, but she forced in as many as she could before Rosier cast another Petrificus Totalus on her. And then she was just suspended, upside-down and paralyzed, over the Black Lake.

“Now, when I release the Full Body-Bind, I’d like you not to scream. And then we can get you down if you work with us,” Rosier ordered, most composed and patient.

“FUCK YOU, YOU DENSE BASTARDS!” Cyren rattled off some high screams here, hoping to attract attention, “I’LL NEVER JOI-”

Rosier pretended to pay no mind to Cyren after recasting Full Body-Bind, but his voice was loud enough for her to hear, “Alright, then. Mulciber, take her clothes and towel too.”

Mulciber complied, although somewhat confusedly. The nerve of these bastards, taking her clothes too—and her glasses!

“We’ll be going now, Cyren. You know where to find us,” Rosier called out with disquieting calmness, looking at her disapprovingly.

If she could talk now, she would have screamed profanities about Rosier for all of Hogwarts to hear. Instead, Cyren was forced to silently watch the Slytherins retreat from the lake. It was a good thing her hair wasn’t long enough to cover her face in this position, otherwise she would look especially dead. Or like the Grudge. Whoever found her like this would be sure to die of a heart attack.

She was getting incredibly cold, body weak from struggling underwater so many times with the Full Body-Bind. Hanging upside down now wasn’t doing much for her either, the blood slowly rushing to her head. Dejectedly, she waited for help to come. And she hoped she’d still have time to make it to Herbology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you never got to watch the twilight movies as a kid and now you're marathoning them in college with your suitemates and it's like twilight mania 2.0 
> 
> anyways, happy spring break to some of you! happy spring to the rest; it's so rainy here. i am just damp and slightly frazzled from finals week.


	5. herbology

“Did you hear that?” Remus asked, looking around.

Sirius thought his friend looked very much like a dog that had caught scent of something.

“No, Moony. Do you need your ears checked?” Sirius answered sweetly.

“Someone’s screaming,” Remus replied softly.

And then they all heard it—a horribly desperate sound. Just plain screaming, not even a “Help,” or “Fucking hell!” Sirius froze just a bit before the screaming ended as he realized he knew that voice. On very rare occasions when his pranks hit her just right, Cyren screamed like that.

“I—I heard that,” Peter piped up, most unhelpfully.

James swatted him on the back of his head, “We all did, Wormy. Let’s go!”

“I think it’s Cyren,” Sirius hissed as they ran toward the lake.

The boys did not say anything, maybe they already knew. They had all been standing around in the courtyard, and the screams had come from the lakeside—and Cyren sometimes swam in the lake. _Damn it, Cyren,_ he thought.

// 

They saw her long before they reached the shore of the lake—she was suspended high above the water, upside down.

“Oh, Merlin’s pants,” James muttered at the sight of the helpless Black.

“Snivellus!” Sirius snarled, recognizing the Levicorpus.

“Libera—”

Remus knocked Peter’s wand out of his hand before he could finish the counter-jinx, and the other three Marauders turned to stare at him questioningly. The brief surge of valiance in Peter was being overrun with doubt from Remus’s interference.

“I think she’s in a Full Body-Bind,” Remus said with mixed parts uncertainty and firmness, “and Levicorpus. I think they hit her with both—that’s why she’s not moving or talking.”

“Oi, Cyren! Would you by any chance be in a Full Body-Bind, too?” James hollered out across the lake.

Sirius punched his best friend in the arm, “She can’t answer you, idiot. Do you need a reminder of how Full Body-Binds work?”

James rolled his eyes and shrugged, “Well, I figured I’d ask anyways. You never know.”

Turning back to the upside-down Cyren, the Marauders confirmed Remus’s theory.

“Gosh, Wormtail. Imagine what would have happened if Remus hadn’t stopped you—we’d all be waiting for her to surface while she drops to the bottom of the Black Lake like a plank of wood,” Sirius mused as James lifted the paralysis.

“I’m so-ssorry, I didn’t know,” Peter murmured, shoving his hands guiltily into his pockets.

“It’s alright Peter, you didn’t know,” Remus said softly, echoing Peter.

Remus looked quite displeased at the prospect of Peter killing Cyren. Even after Sirius clapped him on the shoulder to thank him, Remus still appeared a bit shaken.

“Hey, Cyren! Before we release the Levicorpus, anything else we should know?” Sirius yelled out to his sister.

“Just drop me now!” she shrieked back, her voice wearing thin at the end.

“So ungrateful,” Sirius muttered under his breath as he sent the counter-jinx toward her.

Cyren felt herself falling through the air, dreading the impact but simultaneously relieved for being freed at last. She hit the water softer than she expected, guessing that one of the boys had cushioned her landing somehow. If only she was as skilled as they were, then maybe she wouldn’t have gotten into this deep mess in the first place. Floating felt delightful; just normal floating, as a normal body should do in water. She almost wanted to stay there, but Herbology would be starting in under an hour because the clock had just chimed earlier. And she had had enough of the lake for today.

James sighed as Cyren came toward them in slow strokes, “Taking her time, too.”

But as Cyren got out of the water, they saw the slight trembles in her body. She could barely keep her legs from knocking against each other as she stepped toward them, and she was panting a considerable amount.

“Out of shape there?” Sirius blurted out, but there was a dubious undertone to his jab.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been hanging upside down for a while,” his sister tiredly shot back at him.

She stood a few feet away from the boys, awkwardly remembering that her robes and towel were gone. And her wand. And her glasses.

“They took my thingsss,” Cyren stated simply, giving into shivering as she looked down to the ground dejectedly.

“Oh, bloody hell! The Slytherins, was it?” Sirius demanded, his anger rising visibly.

The sound of odd objects hitting the stones on the ground made everyone pause and stare at the source—Remus. He had turned out his pockets: a chocolate bar, a handful of notes, a small book, a mini quill, and some coins. He looked unabashed as he shrugged off his robes and stepped forward to offer them to the still-shivering Cyren.

“You could wear my robes for now, if you wanted. You’re very cold,” Remus said, “If you wanted.”

“Oh thank you, Remus,” Cyren breathed, putting the robes on carefully.

He was an entire head and then some taller than her, so the robes swept against the ground when she put it on. She clutched the fabric closer to her body, trying to latch onto the remaining warmth of Remus’s body heat—a very distracting and inappropriate thought in such circumstances—caught in the robes. At least if she was blushing and a little flustered no one would call her out on it; she’d just narrowly escaped some drowning torture after all. But at this point, there was too much running through her head—Remus had given her his robes now!—and all that she was feeling and thinking was quite jumbled. James eloquently threw some drying and warming spells her way, nodding stiffly as she gushed her thanks.

“Tell us everything—why are you looking at me weird like that?” Sirius demanded.

“I can barely see! They took my glasses, too!”

“Who?” James and Sirius asked in furious unison.

“Mulciber, Avery, Rosier,” Cyren rattled off the names with obvious distaste, “I was swimming and they just appeared. Wanted me to _‘join the right side,’_ I said no, and they thought some Petrificus Totalus and Levicorpus would convince me otherwise. And took my robes and towel—with my wand and glasses!—because… I don’t even know why!”

She moaned, her hand running exasperatedly through her hair like she did whenever she was stressed, “My wand. And my glasses.”

“We’ll get them back, Cy,” James said softly, patting her on the head.

“I know, it’s just I have Herbology soon,” Cyren muttered, dreading having to explain to everyone why she was squinting and clearly disoriented.

“You’ve been hexed while wandless, and you’re worried about your classes?” Sirius asked incredulously, then the realization dawned in his eyes; “They didn’t use the Full Body-Bind on you while you were in the water, did they?”

Cyren knew the dangerous lilt in his voice, and she nodded slowly, “They did. But I’m alive and well, thanks to you lot.”

Something flashed in Sirius’s eyes, but he pulled himself together. This was Sirius about to take action, they knew. He had _that_ look.

“They put the Full Body Bind on you, in the water. Practically drowning you,” Sirius deadpanned.

Cyren nodded feebly, feeling uncomfortable under the tension in the air as the boys stiffened.

“Who was it?”

“Sirius—”

“I don’t know, Sirius. I was in the water when they first started shooting spells…all of them?”

“All of them?” Sirius’s voice rose dangerously, and Cyren’s eyes widened.

“I—I mean, not all at once, probably. Except for when I was trying to hide underwater, and every time I came up for air they’d kind of shoot a bunch to try to get me, but—oh damn it,” Cyren muttered as she realized she was not making the situation sound any better.

Sirius had heard enough. He nodded at James, who grinned most conspiratorially, and they took off for the castle soundlessly.

He turned back once to yell, “Try to stay dry, darling sister!”

“Wait!” Peter squeaked, looking back and forth between Remus and the other two Marauders before chasing after their receding figures.

Cyren watched Remus pick up his things from the ground and neatly place them into his school bag.

“Sorry about your robes; I can get them back to you when I can get back to the common room,” Cyren promised, sheepishly.

“That’s—no worries. Don’t apologize at all,” Remus replied, smiling gently, “I’m sure James and Sirius will get your things back soon. We have Potions with the Slytherins coming up.”

Cyren wondered how that would go. She secretly wanted to miss Herbology to see the fight. At the same time, she hated feeling defenseless. That Sirius and the other Marauders had to go chasing after the Slytherins on her behalf because of all this.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Remus continued as they ascended the hill toward the castle.

 _There you go, always perceptive as ever._

“I—I know. I guess. I just wish I could have done something instead of wait for it to be over,” Cyren muttered glumly as she picked up the robes to avoid tripping over them.

“Wandless spells are tricky,” Remus said, trying to comfort her, “at least you’re alright. Three against one and the Full Body-Bind underwater, bloody hell.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Remus asked concernedly.

The group unanimously declared him as the mother hen of sorts (or the closest they’d get) of the Marauders. _He's being particularly mother hennish right now,_ Cyren thought, as she tried not to dwell on the image of Remus biting his lip in worry.

“Yes?” Cyren squeaked under Remus’s scrutiny.

“Sorry—it’s just, you basically almost drowned, if I’m hearing you right,” Remus turned away from her, his mouth in a grim line as he inhaled sharply.

Remus Lupin was apologizing for _caring_. He was unbelievable, really. Cyren shook her head as she hitched her robes up again. Frowning, Remus stopped her in her tracks and cast a few sealing spells to seal the front of the robes together and to fold up the bottom hem. It looked like she was wearing a very baggy dress, 

Cyren stared at him confusedly, trying to understand the boy’s ambiguous gaze. Troubled? Contempt? Worry? He was obviously thinking hard about something. And almost…distraught. Outside her Herbology classroom, Remus was still caught in his thoughts. Cyren smiled to herself; he was often like this, in deep thought. Sometimes whenever she or the other Marauders snapped him out of it, he’d muse about a book he was reading or an idea he’d been chewing on for days. But most of the time, they let him be. Cyren secretly delighted in being around Remus whenever he got like this, his jaw set firmly and his gaze fixated on something in the distance. The seriousness was adorable. And like now, outside the greenhouse, she could indulge in staring at him without Remus noticing at all.

A couple of students were approaching, snapping Cyren out of her reverie. She tugged lightly on Remus’s bag, clearing her throat.

“I’ll be going into Herbology now. See you later—and thanks for the robes, Remus.”

Remus nodded, that small, usual grin of his pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh wait, take this, too. You can put it back into the pockets if you don’t finish it,” Remus handed a chocolate bar from his bag to her.

Cyren chuckled, taking the bar and giving Remus a little wave as she ducked into the greenhouse. She’d barely finished the first piece of chocolate before Gertie Buxley, ever the busybody, cornered her against a wall.

“Was that Remus Lupin who just gave you some chocolate? Are those his robes?”

Cyren narrowed her eyes at Gertie, “Yes. I’m good friends with him through my brother, if you’ll remember. He was kind enough to offer me his robes after some Slytherins hexed me while I was swimming in the lake today and stole all my stuff.”

She made sure to say this somewhat loudly so no one else in the class would get the wrong idea either. Gertie looked taken aback, but refused to apologize. She was probably one of the girls crushing on Remus, Cyren guessed. There were a slew of students after Sirius, being the absolute paradigm of dark, dashing, and mysterious that he was. James’s fangirls had mostly dropped off after he finally got Lily Evans.

Remus’s fan base, on the other hand, was more subtle, but just as passionate. Cyren had heard so many conversations in the hallways about his “soft eyes,” and “gentleness.” Apparently, his quieter demeanor, in contrast to the more obnoxious Marauders, hit a soft spot with quite a few people. But they mostly just giggled and gushed about him, instead of trying to slip him Amortentia. Some tried to get him to help them with their homework or talked to him in classes with the hopes of growing closer, but somehow nothing ever really happened. Yet as much as Cyren rolled her eyes at Remus’s admirers, she was basically in the same boat.

Cyren felt certain that Remus was probably particular about dating, or maybe even already had someone he fancied. He could be a bit shy sometimes. All the more reason to hold onto her friendship with him though—she was perfectly content with loving him as just a friend instead of making things awkward. You just couldn’t like one of your brother’s best friends like that. The thought of any of the Marauders finding out terrified Cyren. She knew she was a like a little sister to all of them, despite only being a year younger. It would also be painful for her to admit her crush out loud to Remus. Being the empathetic person he was, he’d probably earnestly apologize and feel guilty for not liking her _like that_ , which would make it even worse.

“I’m sorry about what happened. As least we don’t need our wands in class today,” Rei Lee, her lab partner offered as Cyren sat down wearily; she was growing more self-conscious of wearing Remus’s robes by the moment.

Cyren just nodded and broke off a piece of chocolate for Rei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for everyone who gave kudos and bookmarked! also the comment, but i'm not sure if the comment was spam or not... 
> 
> pls let me know any of your thoughts on the story! my pace has slowed down a little but it might be because i'm feeling kinda eh during this break for some reason...also, as of late, i'm not proofreading before posting so i apologize for any errors
> 
> thank you for reading and i hope you have a wonderful day!


	6. drowning in dry air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very short, i know. apologiessss

Remus could see Sirius’s right foot tapping impatiently, eager for Potions to end. Two more minutes. Sirius’s glares seemed almost fierce enough to burn, while James feigned aloofness. Remus reached into his bag for some chocolate, then realized he had given the bar to Cyren. He hoped she was doing alright and hadn’t caught a cold or anything by now. The younger Black was really having a shit day.

“…due next class!”

All the students got up, the Marauders naturally gravitating toward each other amidst the stream of bodies rushing out of class. The second their feet touched the threshold of the classroom door, Sirius pounced.

“Levicorpus!” he yelled swiftly, and Mulciber was in air, then Avery shortly after.

Remus scanned the hectic crowds for Rosier, not at all surprised that he had been able to evade the attacks. The Slytherin’s sandy-blonde hair was bobbing up and down in the sea of students, trying to escape unnoticed down the corridor. Unfortunately for Rosier, Remus sent him flying out of the crowd and James threw a Levicorpus at the boy as well. The little area of the hallway where their debacle was taking place was gathering quite a crowd now; several students cheering the Marauders on while some Slytherins tried to get back at the Marauders. Sirius and James occasionally sent careless hexes behind them at their minor pursuers, but left Remus and Peter to hold most of the distractions at bay.

Mulciber was screeching horrendously now, his voice reaching an ungodly octave.

“Shut up!” Sirius roared, and Mulciber’s body snapped still with the Full Body-Bind.

“How does that! FEEL!” Sirius yelled, paralyzing Avery and Rosier.

The captured Slytherins were glaring down with pure hatred now, rendered totally immobile and at the mercy of the Marauders. They probably all knew that they were facing the blunt of Sirius’s wrath in specific, however.

“I’m not in the mood for flooding the castle so you bastards can get the same treatment you gave my sister,” Sirius started.

Remus knew he was speaking loud and clear for all around to hear. Although Cyren Black was not a wild extrovert and nowhere as famous—or infamous—as her brother, there was no doubt that putting the Slytherins’ nasty tricks on full blast would make the next few days unbearable for them. Surely many other Gryffindors would be after them, and some students in the other houses would detest the little gang if they didn’t already.

“The Full Body-Bind in a lake? While she was swimming? Repeatedly?” Sirius questioned, sending hexes at the suspended Slytherins to accentuate each question mark.

There were no visible changes, unless you were watching the Slytherins’ eyes closely. Whatever nonverbal hexes Sirius was throwing at them, they were probably not going to be apparent until the Levicorpus and Petrificus Totalus were dropped—and then the boys would be vomiting blood or spouting horns, or both. To Sirius’s words, gasps erupted from the crowd.

“Not to mention that my little sister also did not have a wand,” Sirius drawled dramatically.

He then dropped his wand most dramatically. Remus let out a low whistle, because he knew that Sirius was going to give it his all.

“So, on her behalf, I’d like to give you all the appropriate wandless spells I’ve got. Just to make it even,” the older Black’s voice was sickeningly sweet.

Some in the crowd were scampering away now while others stepped up closer in anticipation. Mulciber started yelling profanities again and Remus realized that the Full Body-Bind had been removed. Just as quickly, however, Mulciber’s words ended up garbled and unintelligible. All three suspended bodies were spasming now. An electrifying spell, Remus guessed, as the smell of burnt hair filled the air. Bloody noses. Someone’s tooth fell to the ground with a small, tinkling sound. Remus grimaced at the sight of the loose canine, then scanned beyond the edges of the ever-burgeoning crowd for any signs of teachers—there were none, yet.

Then there were horrible choking sounds and Remus realized that the Slytherins were heaving for air, as if they were drowning. He knew that the curse only made the victims imagine themselves drowning, but by the way Avery’s eyes were bugging out of his head, it looked as if the halls had indeed been flooded. Rosier was coughing violently now, his silence and composure totally shattered. It was quite ghastly, but fitting, Remus supposed.

“Also, very rude to leave her hanging above the lake, in the Full Body-Bind. You children then proceeded to steal her wand, clothes, and glasses,” Sirius growled.

The Slytherins’ clothes disappeared, replaced with something much tighter and revealing than robes. One-piece bathing suits quite similar to Cyren’s, Remus noted. He nodded appreciatively at James, who had stepped up alongside Sirius now.

“I suppose I would conjure a few suits for you blokes, seeing that you were so eager on harassing our little sister at the lake. I’m warning you—if you ever bother her again with your Death Eater recruiting semantics, you perverts will be dead!” James scolded the Slytherins.

Sirius smirked at his best friend, then bent down to pick up his wand again.

“Ooh, good idea, Prongs,” Remus barely heard Sirius whisper to James.

A flick of the wand and the words _I am a pervert_ appeared on Rosier’s whole left leg, in bold, red print. Another flick of the wand stamped _PERVERT_ on his forehead. Avery and Mulciber were ignored by Sirius, and Remus could see his friend aiming at Rosier’s butt cheeks until they were interrupted by the only thing that mattered.

“BLACK!” McGonagall’s voice rang from the other end of the hallway.

The Marauders took that as their cue to pick up their book bags and flee, leaving the struggling Slytherins still suspended upside-down and coughing imaginary water out of their lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! yep, it happened. i skipped a week (or two? i think). spring quarter is a lot busier than i anticipated. i hit a weird bump in the road and i'm trying to figure that out, so there may be irregular updating for some indeterminate time until i feel a bit more put-together. also, i realized i still haven't figured out how/where i want this story to end up, and that's a problem for me, personally. thank you though, for your support and kudos and comment. i'm not giving up on this story, because i've been wanting to write again for awhile.


	7. swimsuit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **edit: THE TITLE OF THE STORY IS CHANGING: it's going to be "(A Place) Where the Moonlight Does Not Hurt," which is pretty lengthy and a little too close to "a place where the moon don't shine" for my liking, but i like it a lot better than "Heart of a Wolf."**
> 
> HELLO I AM BACK AND ALSO SORRY FOR SUCH A SHORt CHAPTER 
> 
> bad news: i have yet to decide what i want to make of this fic, and it turns out this chapter was my last from the stockpile. so i need time to write more stuff. and even more time because i need to think. 
> 
> good news: my laptop is fixed & i really don't want to give up on this story.
> 
> ++thank you if you're still reading, and thank you to anyone who's dropped kudos and whatnot (one comment! :,) )

As much as Cyren wanted to ‘forget’ to give back Remus’s obnoxiously good-smelling robes, she forced herself back into her dormitory after Herbology class to change into her own clothes. And tried very, very hard not to lovingly sniff Remus’s robes like some maniac before folding it up into a neat square. She was unsure of how awkward it would be to give the robes back in the Dining Hall—especially if anyone else saw and called her out on it—so she stood in the middle of the Common Room trying to think of the best way to go around this. There was some boisterous group behind her, then a gentle tap on the shoulder. Her body flinched instinctively as she spun around, almost hitting someone’s tall chest in the process.

Cyren’s mouth went dry as she registered the grey jumper before her head lifted up to meet Remus’s face.

“Ah, here’s your robes,” she said nonchalantly as possible.

She shoved the robes forward, as if they were some offending object. Remus looked a bit taken aback, but Cyren didn’t really want to dwell on the flickering confusion she saw in the older boy’s eyes.

“Hurry up and put that away, Moony. I want dinner now!” Sirius bellowed most immaturely.

“Rude brat,” Cyren muttered under her breath, receiving a chuck on the head from her brother.

“Try not to stare at the Slytherins, Cy. They’ve gone wild,” Sirius advised her cheerfully as he spun back toward the entryway.

“Oh gods, you did something to them didn’t you?” Cyren murmured, bracing herself for the worst.

The Terrible Trio, as she would call Avery, Mulciber, and Rosier from now on. Hopefully they would stay a trio and not recruit any more Slytherins in their attempts to torture her onto the dark side. She tried to imagine what Sirius had inflicted on the Terrible Trio. Boils? Horns? Explosive farts? She had scurried back to the Gryffindor tower as soon as class had ended, but now that she thought of it, the halls had been teeming with a bit more gossip that usual. Probably gossip about the Marauders’ latest victims, too.

“They don’t look very good in swimsuits,” James offered cryptically.

“The blood hell is that supposed to mean?” Cyren furrowed her brows at her brother’s best friend.

“They don’t look as good as _you_ in a swimsuit,” Peter piped up unhelpfully, looking awfully gleeful.

But then again, with his untimely interruptions, he often came off creepy. Cyren suppressed a shudder at Wormtail’s words as Sirius and James both sniggered.

“What’s this about a swimsuit?” Remus asked, trying to catch up on the conversation as he rejoined the group.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Peter smirked, and this time Cyren slugged him on the shoulder, a little harder than playfully because he was being a little bit more troublesome than usual today.

Although they often made fun of Peter, Cyren knew he was quite astute and more or less aware of her crush on Remus. Sometimes Peter’s eyebrows wriggled suggestively when he caught her staring at the other boy, and Cyren would glare at Peter before shifting her gaze elsewhere. On occasion, he would drop some cryptic jabs at Cyren or double entendres right out of the blue—but then the rest of the Marauders were wonderfully oblivious. The other boys dismissed his words as outbursts belonging to “Weird Things Peter Says Sometimes.” Thankfully, Peter hadn’t explicitly told anyone about her crush, but Cyren was perpetually afraid he’d slip up one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure when the next update will be, but you can bet that I'mm be brainstorming my butt off... thank you again for reading! 
> 
> i'm really looking forward to hopefully writing & updating regularly once school starts again because cranking out this stuff is the best feeling in the world.
> 
> **edit: THE TITLE OF THE STORY IS CHANGING: it's going to be "(A Place) Where the Moonlight Does Not Hurt," which is pretty lengthy and a little too close to "a place where the moon don't shine" for my liking, but i like it a lot better than "Heart of a Wolf."**


	8. what you smell like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :,) hello again! i will be officially changing the title next week, because i made my decision a couple days after the last update.

Cyren did not look at the Slytherin table as they entered the Great Hall. Bursts of small chatter followed the Marauders’ path to the Gryffindor table, and she groaned inwardly. The damage had been done and it was probably quite awful for the Terrible Trio. She made sure to keep her eyes to the ground, not wanting to see how people were looking at her—the helpless pet of the Marauders, who had been suspended in full paralysis above the lake just earlier.

“How bad is it?” she asked Remus tentatively as he slid in next to her on the bench.

“Not too much physical harm, but your brother was pretty mad.”

She liked Remus’s honesty; it was by far the smoothest and most graceful of anyone she had ever met. But then again, having a crush on Remus meant that she thought everything about him was exceptionally magnificent. Cyren thought for a second, then decided that many of the traits she admired about him would still be there and just as wonderful even if she wasn’t attracted to him.

Remus leaned in, whispering as if they were sharing a joke. She could barely feel his breath ghosting along the lobe of her ear, but it took every ounce of discipline in her to not look at him—she would totally lose it otherwise. If she looked at him right now, who knew what would happen? She could faint. The windows would explode into smithereens. The planets would swing out of alignment. Utter chaos. To be fair, any sense of balance in Cyren’s world had already been destroyed when she met Remus Lupin six years ago.

“They basically returned the favor to the Slytherins,” the object of her suffering began, “Levicorpus, Full-Body Bind in the hallway right after Potions. And then Sirius got a little showy, dropped his wand and threw some wandless nonverbals at them.”

Cyren tried to control the little trembles in her hand as she reached for her glass of lemonade, “Oh, boy.”

She mentally scolded herself to get it together—Merlin, why couldn’t she have Remus whispering to her without getting a nervous breakdown? He wasn’t even that close—it was just a little under a wand’s length between them.

“There was some blood and uh…choking. Like they were underwater,” Remus continued, looking sheepish.

Cyren knew that Remus loved the Marauders and that was often why he never called them out on things. He wanted to sometimes, when the boys went a little too far or were too cruel. She patted him on the arm as if to say she would never think any less of him for being associated with the Marauders and their often-questionable antics.

“I suppose the Terrible Trio deserved it this time,” Cyren offered.

Remus nodded, biting back a proclamation in heavy agreement with the younger Black. If the Slytherins had been a bit more careless, what would have happened to Cyren down at the lake? The thought made him strangely angry—strange, because he did not get angry often or easily.

“And then James got an idea to charm their clothes into swimsuits. That’s what Peter was talking about earlier…before McGonagall came, Sirius was stamping the boys with words. ‘Pervert’ and ‘I am a pervert.’ Rosier’s not here, so maybe he couldn’t get it off his forehead in time for dinner—”

“Oi! Moony, whatcha telling Cy? She looks like she’s got a ghoul whispering behind her,” Sirius interrupted.

Cyren had not realized she was so tense and her anxiety so embarrassingly palpable.

“She must be horrified at what you did to the Slytherins,” Peter piped up.

“I am not!”

“I am not!” Peter mocked her in a high-pitched whine, showing a piece of spinach stuck between his two front teeth.

She glared at him but was grateful nonetheless for his inadvertent save. _No Sirius, I’m just trying not to die of heart failure over here while your good friend whispers to me, because my hormones go haywire around Remus Lupin._

Remus straightened away from Cyren and said in a slightly louder tone, “Sirius was aiming for Rosier’s butt cheeks before the professor arrived.”

Cyren chuckled at the image, not noticing how Remus brightened at her laughing.

“Speaking of this whole ordeal,” Sirius extended his hand across the table toward Cyren.

“What?”

“Your wand, dear sister,” he waggled his fingers at her, a bored look on his face.

Cyren was at a complete loss and her brother rolled his eyes as if she was the stupidest witch in the world. Okay, compared to him she might be pretty disappointing, but she wasn’t that stupid.

“I am going to charm your wand and make it waterproof, so you can take it swimming with you. Stick it in your swimsuit, make it into a necklace, or something. We can’t have you wandless next time, too.”

“Next time?” Cyren asked quizzically as she grudgingly handed her wand over.

She felt like a child, despite only being a year younger than the boys. And a helpless child at that, too.

“Persistent bastards,” James agreed with Sirius.

Cyren groaned, but James only smiled wider, “It only means we get more chances to get back at them. Not that we really ever need reasons, but you know. Sort of feels…valiant.”

“I am not a damsel in distress,” she deadpanned at James, who shrugged noncommittally.

“Not a damsel,” Peter affirmed, a dramatic hand on his chest, “You’re a gremlin.”

Cyren rolled her eyes at the pet name that Marauders often used for her. It was because she ate a lot of sweets and was small—even more so when standing amongst the Marauders. And she often grumbled or let out gibberish groans whenever she was frustrated, which was often.

“I’ll try to teach you some wandless spells too, and the others will show you ways to defend yourself,” Sirius said, handing her wand back.

Nothing came out of her lips as she opened her mouth, meaning to protest.

“How else are you going to protect yourself next year?” her brother said flippantly, but the look he gave her was serious.

As if Cyren needed any more reminders she would be basically alone next year—and now her brother was caring. It was too much.

Sirius’s look of concern lingered in her mind throughout the night, and she tried to make use of her frustration by taking it out on her Transfiguration paper. Homework always required energy and concentration, and Cyren thought it was a decent coping mechanism for whenever she was angry. She really hoped the Slytherins would get the message and leave her alone—it would ruin her Sixth Year to have to deal with them on a regular basis. As she finished the essay and her hand slowed down its ferocious scrawling, Cyren realized how tired she was with the soreness steadily creeping through her wrist. And it was cold.

She was curled up in an odd, yet cozy angle in her favorite common room chair. It was tucked away in a corner with some gentle light and warmth from the fireplace, but easily overlooked by passerby Gryffindors. Cyren still had a little bit more to go on the paper, and she really didn’t want to extricate herself from this position to trek up the stairs for a sweater. She would be in bed soon anyway, she reasoned, so she grit her teeth and pushed thoughts of the cold aside.

Despite her determination, her body was winning. Cyren let out a small huff as she realized she had been re-reading a sentence multiple times and comprehending nothing. The fatigue was sabotaging any attempts at editing, but this damn paper was due tomorrow. She narrowed her eyes at the parchment and brought it up closer to her face, as if that would somehow change things. Soft footsteps padded over to her chair and she dropped her pages in reluctant surrender.

It was Remus, looking impossibly cute with his especially-ruffled hair and a stack of books under his arm. He often studied late with her in the library and the common room. Not that anything would come of it, besides internal frustration on Cyren’s part. He was too studious for her to initiate conversation without feeling bothersome—she felt annoying just asking him for help. But he was by far her favorite person to ask for homework help, because he rarely declined and a was great tutor (Sirius and James were unbelievably smart but always ‘busy’ or impatient with her when they did agree to lend their brain). She knew this was agreed upon by many people, because she wasn’t the only Gryffindor—or even student at Hogwarts—that sought out Remus for help with her classwork.

“You’re getting sleepy,” Remus noted amusedly.

Cyren was thinking about his hair. It was perpetually more or less ruffled, but especially messy during studying. He often drove his fingers through it while he did his work, a trait that she shared with him and James. Except she also did it while she was frustrated, nervous, and just plain thinking. And while the boys could pull it off as a dashing look, she ended up looking sort of wild, with her short hair lopsided and sticking out in weird places. She really was a gremlin.

“Uh, yeah,” Cyren replied stupidly.

She quickly regained her senses, blurting, “But I gotta finish this paper. I just need to read it over once.”

“Like you’ve been trying to for the past five minutes?”

Cyren narrowed her eyes at him, “You’ve been watching me suffer for the past five minutes?”

Remus laughed his soft, quiet laugh, and Cyren fidgeted in her seat. She found that her right foot was numb and tried to discreetly shake the pins and needles out without visibly wincing.

“Here, let me edit it for you,” Remus offered, but Cyren shook her head.

“Go to bed, Remus. I’ve got it,” Cyren protested, picking up the papers strewn over her lap and clutching them.

But he had already placed his books on the floor and was standing over her with a calm look of determination on his face.  
  
“You looked like you were re-reading the same sentence ten times and not understanding a single word,” Remus argued, and Cyren frowned at his perceptiveness.

“It’ll take five minutes, I’m a fast reader. Then we can both go to bed,” Remus added cheerily.

Cyren’s frown deepened as she turned her eyes down to the ground, hoping the dim lighting would mask her blushing. Her cheeks felt hot as fire and in that moment, Remus chose to strike—he swiftly snatched the papers out of her hand, much to the surprise of a bumbling, stuttering Cyren.

“That’s four rolls of parchment! Go to bed Remus!” she batted at his arms, but he moved closer to the fire to read.

He was leaning against the side of her chair, his back to her and acting as if he couldn’t hear her at all. He was humming. Cyren grumbled as she stood up on the chair, so that she was a head taller than him. Praying that she wouldn’t fall over the boy and land on him in some embarrassing position that belonged in a horrible, sappy romance novel, Cyren reached carefully over his head for her essay.

Remus’s grip was firm and she was unable to tug the papers out of his hands, fearing she would rip them in half. Thank Merlin’s pants no one was still in the common room to witness her overdrawn dramatics. But she knew that Remus was a good friend—and a very nice person in general—so even if it was really late, he would take the time to look over her essay with the utmost care and attention.

He lifted a hand to brush hers away, his fingers freezing upon contact with her hands. Cyren froze too, holding her breath. Nope, nope, nope, this could not be happening. She hated romance novels and films. They were horrible. Horrible, horrible things. Cheesy, unrealistic, and revolting.

She exhaled in relief when he instead flatly claimed, “You’re cold.”

Sometimes I forget to breathe when I’m around you, Cyren thought, then mentally punched herself. Multiple times.

“No, I’m Cyren,” she answered, and Remus snorted.

He always gave a little nod to her horrible jokes—her sense of humor was really awful, dad humor and puns and whatnot.

“And I am reading your essay while you go warm up in front of the fire,” Remus persisted, nodding toward the fireplace.

“I don’t wanna.”

“Your hands feel like ice.”

“But this is my favorite chair and I like it here.”

Remus exhaled, shaking his head slightly. Cyren settled down into the chair, leaning back so the cushions swallowed her and Remus dropped out of view. She closed her eyes, trying hard to think of anything except how cute Remus looked. Trying to squash all the butterflies in her stomach at the sight of the firelight dancing off his face, in this moment when it was just the two of them in the common room. How he wouldn’t go to sleep until she was done with her work, too.

“Fine, then stay there,” his voice sounded the teeniest bit strangled and Cyren was afraid she had somehow hurt his feelings—was she being rude and petulant? She panicked, jolting forward.

Something soft landed in her lap. A blanket? Her hands fumbled with the unknown object as her eyes shot open. Warm. It was Remus’s grey jumper. Her breath caught in her throat, and Cyren peered nervously at Remus. He was wearing just his white button-up now—still in his school clothes, she realized. Cyren had changed into pajamas earlier, because she liked to fall right into bed instead of fumbling around for clothes after finishing homework. But her pajama shirt was just a thin cotton t-shirt, hence why she was freezing now.

Remus looked like he regretted his offer and Cyren was still frozen, her hand on the jumper. She was trying so hard not to smush her face into the thing. Or squeal and pull it into her arms like a delighted five-year old hugging their favorite plushed animal.

“I mean, if you don’t want it that’s fine, but I figured you were too lazy to go grab your own because you’re lazy—that’s not a bad thing, I just—” Remus began, looking frustrated with himself.

Cyren’s heart melted. Classic Remus Lupin, always thinking he was somehow the inconvenience. He also must have mistaken her shock for disgust. Little did he know, there were fireworks going off in her brain right now. A chorus of angels. This was the second time he’d given her an article of clothing in ONE DAY. The house elves would probably understand her ecstasy, as well as any other student at Hogwarts that was crushing on the precious cinnamon roll that was Remus Lupin.

“No,” Cyren breathed, “Thank you, Remus. Thank you.”

As she carefully lifted the jumped over head, Cyren felt like screaming out loud. Fucking mandrakes screeching in her brain. His soft “You’re welcome, Cyren,” was barely audible with the blood pounding in her ears as she pulled Remus’s jumper over herself. When she glanced at him, Remus had turned his back on her again and was reading the paper. Cyren shifted, resuming her near-fetal position, but this time resting her head on the giant armrest just a couple inches away from Remus.

“Why don’t you sit down?” she asked, frowning at the thought him reading her paper at this god-forsaken hour and standing the entire time.

“Light’s good here,” Remus muttered absentmindedly, and Cyren scoffed because that was not at all true. There were other chairs closer to the fireplace.

“Can I borrow your Fix Quill?” he asked, and she handed it to him.

Cyren brought her knees closer to herself, snuggling her face into the sleeves of the jumper. He smelled earth and a bit of lavender, she thought. Pine, a smidge of petrichor. A somewhat damp and wholly comforting scent. She hoped her sniffs were being surreptitious enough.

//

“Alright, Cy,” Remus said softly after he finished the last sentence.

He rolled his shoulders and lifted a hand to cover his yawn as he extended his other hand with the papers and quill back to Cyren.

She was asleep.

The girl was very still, save for a little rise and fall in her back, and curled up in the chair. Her head rested on folded arms, just inches away from where Remus had been standing reading her paper. And he had been totally oblivious.

He let out a soft exhale.

Remus thought for a minute before sliding the quill and papers into Cyren’s bag on the floor, and Accio’ed for Cyren’s blanket upstairs. The fluffy brown blanket flew into his hands, and he gingerly laid it over Cyren’s sleeping form, hoping she wouldn’t wake. However, she would probably be sore tomorrow morning—or maybe not, because Cyren was small person and that chair was supposedly her favorite. He smiled to himself as he headed up to his room. She had fallen asleep in what was barely ten minutes. It was adorable, really, not that Cyren wasn’t adorable when conscious. As creepy as it sounded, there was a strange intimacy when a person fell asleep in your presence. Of course, he was overthinking things, too, as he always did.

Pulling his own blanket over himself in bed, Remus was definitely not thinking about how Cyren’s blanket smelled in his hands. Like her: treacle tart, laundry, gingersnaps. He shook his head gently, trying to stop it. The thinking of her, and what she smelled like and how she personally loved treacle tart, too, and liking her, god damn it. He really liked her. And how she smelled like treacle tart and a bunch of other good things that he didn’t even particularly care for, except when they were associated with her. Remus was definitely not thinking about Cyren wearing his jumper, and how fast his heart had been beating when he’d taken the thing off and given it to her. She had obviously been very cold, but he knew there was a bit of hope in his gesture. He had never done something like that before—act impulsively on such feelings, and hope—and he couldn’t. He just couldn’t, not with who he was— _what_ he was _._

He was more horribly conflicted than ever. He hated himself, but the image of Cyren in his jumper made him hate himself a little less. Then he hated himself for feeling that way, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep, so i'm back! :-) a couple things though: 
> 
> 1\. i have realized that my chapters are getting really long. which might be a good thing, not sure? please tell me if i should break them up more; i just don't want to split them toooo much and have chapters that seem like fillers/actionless because as a reader, those kind of chapters are kind of disappointing sometimes. 
> 
> 2\. i will not be able to update weekly anymore. i'm really sorry, but it does take me a while to write and i'm actually editing now...like five times for each chapter. i'd like to say once every two weeks, or every 1.5 weeks. however, i am also a sporadic creature so who knows...it WILL be more often than once a month, though, because 
> 
> 3\. I HAVE BRAINSTORMED UP TO CHAPTER 19!! or so, but the ending is still an internal conflict. still, i've got some outlines and (hopefully) great scenes planned out heheheheh 
> 
> 4\. i'm so sad that joji's album has been postponed again gah 
> 
> 5\. okay, sorry if you're one of those people who fancasts andrew garfield as marauder era! remus. i've been looking around and while there isn't really anyone that realllllly fits marauder remus through and through, some of the pictures in my folder for refs are of matt champion from brockhampton. i think his hair style is what i expected/would like remus's hair to be. so i'm writing this fic picturing remus as a less aloof/smolder-y/smirking matt champion, and taller, because apparently matt is short? and just generally exuding more precious cinnamon roll vibes. 
> 
> 6\. i sort of switch between POVs and my lazy ass is trying to convince myself it's okay because it's all third-person anyways, but if it's really unnerving or obvious pls let me know! I'm curious as to if it works or not. 
> 
> 7\. i am so sorry these notes are long and if you actually read them i wish i could give you juice or something. i am so hungry and have no snacks though


	9. legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i forgot how (relatively) long this chapter was.

Cyren awoke the next morning with a crick in her neck. She knew she totally deserved it for falling asleep in the chair. Then she remembered her paper and Remus and his jumper—she looked down at herself and saw that she was still wearing it— _fuck Merlin,_ she thought.

Tiredly rubbing her hands over her face, Cyren groaned inwardly. When had she fallen asleep? He’d gotten her blanket for her too, that too-good-for-this-world Remus Lupin. It was too early in the morning for heart palpitations, but here she was, spazzing in the common room. A mob of first-year girls running to breakfast was her cue to get up, and she hurried to her room to throw on some clothes. In her haste however, she only put on new trousers and did not realize her mistake until she was halfway to the Great Hall. Cyren tugged at her robes to cover a bit more of Remus’s jumper.

“Fucking Merlin,” she muttered under her breath, brushing a hand agitatedly through her hair.

At the rate she was cursing Merlin’s name today, he’d probably rise out of the grave before noon to tell her to shut up.

“Fell asleep in the common room again?” Peter asked cheekily as she sat down in the Great Hall.

She glared at him, half-heartedly trying to smooth her hair down. If there was anything good that she had picked up from hanging around the Marauders, it was disheveled hair and not giving a damn about it. She hadn’t touched a comb since she left her mother’s house.

“Transfiguration paper,” she replied massaging the side of her neck with one hand and reaching for a bun with the other.

“Whose jumper is that?” Sirius’s eyebrows did a weird wriggle, and Cyren wanted to laugh. And also hide.

“Remus,” she began as nonchalantly as possible, and the boy in question let out a small cough, “lent it to me last night in the common room and I was in a rush this morning.”

“Thanks for editing my paper,” she added politely to Remus, and he nodded.

Sirius’s intrigue dropped flat at her answer, as did the other boys’, and Cyren breathed a small sigh of relief. She did not give Peter the satisfaction of any acknowledgment when he snickered and kicked her gently under the table. Cyren had never really worn any of the Marauders’ clothes before, asides from borrowing a jacket or two from Sirius—they did live together though, and his jackets were always lying around the flat. If her sleeping t-shirt underneath was not patterned with cartoon centaurs prancing around in pink underwear, she would have taken off the jumper and (sadly) given it back to Remus now. Unfortunately for him, she had to hold onto the jumper for a little longer.

She went through Defense Against the Dark Arts with that fuzzy feeling nesting in her stomach and Remus’s scent following her like a ghost every time she lifted her arm to do something—brush her hair out of her face, adjust her glasses, scratch her jaw, palm the cramp in her neck. No one noticed the oversized jumper that hung to her knees, until Gertie Buxley invaded her personal space.

It was the end of class and Cyren was heading out the door when Gertie stormed up to her and grabbed her arm. The Ravenclaw then dropped Cyren’s arm as if it was a corpse, and Cyren was too astounded to snort at the dramatics.

“That’s Remus’s jumper,” Gertie exclaimed, shrilly.

“Hush, will you? He just lent it to me because I was cold,” Cyren glared back, trying to walk around the Ravenclaw girl.

Gertie let out some exasperated wail, then, “It smells _so_ much like him.”

“Dear Merlin, save me,” Cyren muttered under her breath as she fled as quickly as possible—she didn’t even want to know how Gertie knew what Remus smelled like.

Hopefully Gertie liked Remus too much to spread any nasty rumors. Cyren rubbed her temples anxiously, her cheeks burning at the thought of anyone thinking…things like that about her and Remus. People knew though, they had to know that Cyren was just only the pet sister of the Marauders. Also, Remus had a reputation for not being the kind to date. Some people thought he felt too good for everyone else at the school—which Cyren knew was false, if anything, he could do with some less modesty—and others thought he was too shy to date. Cyren’s reputation on the other hand, was something more along the lines of “She’s weird.”

She had been in one relationship, briefly, with Damon Yves when she was a Fourth Year. He was a Fifth Year then and had asked her to the Winter Ball and they’d dated for a month until he tried to shag her in a broom closet. She had been very offended at the thought of losing her virginity in a broom closet—having sex in a dusty broom closet at all, really— but at the same time, the location allowed her to jam the end of a broomstick straight into his nuts.

The Marauders also dealt with him after, and no one had asked her out to dances since then. Not that she had many admirers, if any, since she spent most of her time trailing after the Marauders, eating sweets, and looking generally disheveled and unapproachable. Cyren was so preoccupied lamenting her pathetic romantic history—or lack thereof, really, because of a certain one-sided crush that had been going on for six years and counting—she didn’t notice the Trio blocking her way until it was too late.

She tried to ignore them but Rosier stepped forward, arm raised as if he meant to reach out to her. Horrified at the thought of his hand on her—on Remus’s jumper, too—she hastily stepped back and glared at the three. _Persistent bastards,_ she thought, James’s words from this morning echoing in her mind.

Rosier dropped his arm and studied for her minute, but Cyren refrained from saying anything. It would probably be something stupid that came out of her mouth if she tried to say something smart right now.

“It’s only going to get worse if you keep fighting us,” Rosier began, “And you know you can’t be safe outside of Hogwarts. You’re going to be a blood traitor if you don’t come back to your senses soon.”

“I am a blood traitor, have been since I’ve was disowned,” Cyren affirmed.

“You could be so much more powerful with us,” Avery began, but Cyren flipped him off.

“Leave me alone.”

“You’re weak compared to your brother. It’s not fun being helpless, is it?” Rosier said calmly, and Cyren wanted to knee him in the crotch. Hard.

“Yeah, listen to us, Black. You want to be hiding and running away the rest of your life? You’re going to die once you leave Hogwarts if you don’t come back to where you belong now,” Avery growled.

The thick condescension in Avery’s voice was the final straw for Cyren. She swung her book bag at him, hitting the Slytherin square in the balls. To his credit, Avery did not crumple on the ground as she expected, but visibly paled and stumbled toward her, as if to punch. Then he froze and looked as if he was about to throw up, or cry.

“You—You’re so-so—s-stubborn, you b-” Avery hissed between pained breaths, but Mulciber elbowed him out of the way.

“Don’t make us get aggressive, Black. You’ll regret it,” the other boy interrupted icily.

“You’re harmless. Leave me alone,” Cyren declared and stormed off, heading for the other edge of the hallway as she tried to put as much space between herself and the Trio as possible.

What happened next was a messy flurry—there were raised voices that she purposely blocked out, a hand jerking the back of her robes. She swung back with her fist and felt twice the satisfaction once her knuckles connected with a jaw that happened to be Rosier’s. That was definitely going to bruise him and maybe her knuckles, but it was well worth it. Then Rosier shoved her and Cyren lost her footing, but she refused to go down pathetically so she pulled her wand out, brain scrambling for something quick to shoot at him. The boys were faster and she was suddenly in the air and there was so, so much pain.

When Cyren opened her eyes just a few seconds after, she was gasping in agony at whatever had hit her. The sound of screaming students slowly filtered into her ears, her body burned, and she realized that she was bleeding. Slowly, she found the source of the pain to be her legs—they felt _wet_. She really didn’t want to look down, afraid the damage would be especially gory or there would be no legs to see. A shiver ran through her at the prospect. At least she wasn’t suspended in the air again; it had seemed like some kind of blasting spell that had initially threw her through the air. Maybe she had hit a wall because her back was sore and her head ringing.

The halls were swarming with students and she scowled at the group crowding around her as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. She couldn’t see the Trio, but she could hear Sirius yelling. Suddenly, the circle around her parted as the Marauders tumbling forward.

“Oh god,” James winced, looking at her legs.

Peter paled visibly while Remus bit his bottom lip in worry. Sirius was fuming, but the clouded look of concern in his eyes quickly flitted into steeled resolve. It wasn’t that bad then, she decided.

“You’ll be alright,” Sirius nodded toward her, and she nodded back dumbly before her brother charged in the opposite direction, bellowing Rosier’s name.

James ran with him and Peter scampered hot on their tails. Cyren then decided to look at her legs and was instantly horrified. There was so much blood and her trousers were definitely ruined; the legs were ripped—both her pants legs and actual legs, Merlin’s beard. A sick sense of morbid fascination made it impossible for Cyren to stop staring at her legs, littered with gashes. It was as if someone had slashed a sword at her and she could barely fathom how much pain she would be in if she tried walking—if she could even walk. The gashes ran from her ankle up to mid-thigh, some looking terribly deep. So, so much blood. She was sitting in a small pool of her own blood, Cyren realized in awed terror.

“Cy? Cyren?” a voice called out on her right, and she realized Remus had made it forward and was crouched down to her right.

“I—I’m in shock,” she whispered to him, and he squeezed her hand at the confession.

Her hand? His hand had been on her hand? Her brain was not processing things at all, everything filtering in too slowly. What had the curse been? She had barely heard it, there had been screaming beforehand in the scuffle that broke out. She had been hit with the curse from behind, she figured… Had she blacked out? Were her legs going to be okay?

Some tickling sensation along her legs snapped her out of her frenzied thoughts, and she saw bandages wrapping themselves around her wounds.

“You’re going to be okay. It was a Sectumsempra, so it’s a lot of pain and blood but Pomfrey can fix it…” Remus assured her quickly, and she wondered who was more terrified at the moment between the two of them.

“The bandages are just for now,” Remus said hurriedly as his face came even closer to hers, and she realized he meant to carry her to the hospital wing, “I’ve put a temporary pain relief charm on you, too.”

“’M heavy…” she protested, afraid of moving from her spot on the floor, with the pile of blood and all.

That was her blood. How much did she have to spare anyways?

“You’re not, we have chicken fights all the time,” Remus said dismissively, gingerly scooping her up.

The butterflies in her stomach at the memories of all the chicken fights they’d had in the lake did not mix well with the hell that was breaking loose on her legs. It felt like a dragon was gnawing on her—and the pain would come and go, making it much worse. There was numbness for a few seconds, then flashes of unbearable, bone-splitting agony.

She and Remus did make a good team in chicken fights though. He was the tallest in the Marauders, and she was the shortest amongst them. The two of them were about the same height as any combination between Sirius, James, and Peter—and while she was relatively weak with a wand, she was a good fighter with her bare hands.

As Remus carried her to the infirmary, Cyren tentatively turned her head into his chest, away from all the gaping rubbernecks. He could sense her discomfort and let out an agitated sigh.

Somewhere in the castle, she was sure Sirius was giving the Trio his all. He could fight back, where she could knee balls and run away. She could only fear and cry. They were complete opposites, really. From their old life at home, her brother had triumphed above the abuse while she became meek. He was the best at nonverbal spells after studying Walburga’s attacks and their mother had even stopped hitting him after a while. Sirius wasn’t just great at nonverbals, he was one of the best in the wizarding world. He could take care of himself and Cyren. He learned to dress her wounds every time she talked back to Walburga and pissed her off. Sirius was the epitome of _“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,”_ while she was laden with nightmares of her mother and shit at nonverbals. The idea of always being the victim sank like a heavy stone in Cyren’s stomach—always helpless, always trapped. The Trio’s taunts were echoing in her mind now, how she would suffer after leaving Hogwarts. She thought leaving Walburga would rid her of all her troubles, but that had clearly been proven wrong.

The dark thoughts swallowed her whole as Madam Pomfrey fretted over her wounds. Pomfrey really was a godsend though, especially after she gave Cyren some tonic to reduce the pain to a bearable ache. The gashes were cleaned and stitched up, and some healed substantially with magic. Madam Pomfrey assured her there would be no scars if Cyren took care to apply another tonic daily, and Cyren promised she would. The nurse also somehow conjured a pair of pants that fit Cyren well, mumbling about how students coming to the hospital wing needed new pants more often than one would think.

“Sectumsempra is one of Snape’s nastiest favorites,” Remus whispered to Cyren, “That’s how Pomfrey has gotten really good at treating it. Sirius and James have barely dodged it a few times.”

Cyren winced at the thought of the horrible curse being inflicted on others, not to mention the Marauders themselves. She was quiet for a minute, unsure of what to say.

“At least I didn’t bleed all over your jumper,” Cyren muttered, feeling stupid.

Lately, she was feeling stupid way too often for her liking. Couldn’t a witch catch a break?

Remus smiled warmly at her, “At least you’re alright. You know the Sectumsempra was aimed at your back, too? But somehow it hit your legs.”

“Oof,” Cyren exhaled, thinking about how much worse it would be to have received the curse all over her backside, “Lucky, I suppose. Is this your lucky jumper or something? Because you know my luck is rotten.”

The boy chuckled at her, “You keep the jumper then, just in case.”

Cyren’s insides instantly felt like they were being churned to butter. She was about to (politely) protest when Pomfrey interrupted them. To her surprise, the nurse proclaimed that she was fit to leave as soon as she wanted, since all her wounds had been attended to and wrapped up. Cyren was very grateful; previously she had dreaded being bedridden for Merlin knew how long. Pomfrey would rather she stayed at least overnight, but the girl was persistent and convinced the nurse she would take it easy for the next few days.

“You better make sure she gets plenty of rest, Mr. Lupin. You’re the most sensible of that group,” Pomfrey huffed as she left to attend to a First Year with a chocolate frog leg stuck up his nose.

Slowly, Cyren moved her legs to the edge of her bed, easing herself into sitting upright. She eyed the floor suspiciously. The minute her feet touched the floor, she swayed dangerously as if her legs were made of jelly. Remus rushed forward to support her, and reluctantly, she leaned on him as he helped her limp out the infirmary. Being able to keep Remus’s jumper had brightened her mood incredulously but now her hobbling brought her spirits back down, the previous dark thoughts streaming back into her mind.

They found a quiet alcove to sit in before her next class, Charms. Divinations after that, she remembered with a groan. She really didn’t feel like going to either but figured it was probably better to face all the questions and pity now rather than later. Remus was quiet and when she looked up, Cyren found him staring at her.

“What?” she asked at the wary look on his face.

“I—is there something wrong? Asides from your legs, I mean— you look troubled.”

Cyren ran her fingers through her hair, shooting her eyes down the ground as the tears began to prickle. _Stop it, stop it,_ she thought to herself. The boys had all seen her cry at one point or another—and sometimes made her cry—but she still didn’t like crying in front of people. It was her thing, and it was private suffering. She grit her teeth and took slow breaths, focusing on anything but the stupid Trio and her mother, Death Eaters and pure-blood propaganda.

Remus was completely still as she tried to contain herself. He looked as helpless as she felt, Cyren realized, when she felt confident enough to look back at him.

“Does it still hurt a lot? I can go back and ask Pomfrey for some more of that tonic, if you need it,” he offered softly, glancing at her legs worriedly.

Cyren shook her head, the pain in her legs a distant sensation at the moment. The only thing that hurt right now was the ache in her throat that came before certain cries, especially when she was fighting to hold back tears.

“It’s just me. I can’t do anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sirius—he’s probably hexing them left and right while I sit here trying not cry, Remus.”

“It’s okay to cry sometimes,” Remus replied stiffly.

Cyren wondered if he ever cried. She thought it would probably break her heart to see it. Not because boys shouldn’t cry, but the idea of a Remus hurt enough to cry made something drop in her stomach.

“It’s all I can do, though. Even when we were living with Walburga,” the name sounded horrible as ever out loud, “Sirius could deal with it and fight back, and I had to take the full blunt of everything. It’s…frustrating.”

“You hit Avery in the dick,” Remus offered, making Cyren snorted, “That’s a lot of damage.”

He always knew how to cheer her up, after bad pranks by James and Sirius, a low exam score, any day she was feeling off. Here he was doing it again, making her laugh while she was on the brink of a breakdown. Remus scooted closer to her and ruffled the top of her hair. All the Marauders did that, but Cyren liked Remus’s hair ruffles best.

“It’s not just the Trio. First it was my mum, then them now. And after them there’ll be others. It’s never going to stop is it?” Cyren muttered.

“No, you’re stuck with some things I suppose,” Remus answered, “But running away doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You get to leave whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

“I couldn’t even run away properly—both at the lake and today.”

“I think it’s brave of you to keep trying. I think you’re one of the bravest people I know,” Remus offered.

His voice sounded too honest to her, too raw. She didn’t know what to do with his words; they were making some inexplicable warmth burgeon inside her chest. Cyren had never felt like a Gryffindor. She could be brash and persistent, she could endure—growing up in the House of Black had proved that much—but she did not feel brave.

“Taking the ‘full blunt of it’ is enduring, and that’s brave,” he ruffled her hair again. There he went again, always seemingly reading her mind.

He cleared his throat and turned away, quiet for a couple minutes. Cyren studied the boy: the accentuated cheekbones as he sucked his cheeks in, how smooth the muscles on the side of his neck looked, the curve of his jaw, the curl at the end of his light brown eyelashes.

“You’re going to be fine,” his voice grew smaller, “Even without us. You’ll see next year.”

“Will you miss me?” Cyren sniffed, and internally punched herself. She was really too much of an emotional baby right now to be around Remus Lupin of all people. Someone should really get her out of here before she said something regrettable. Like a confession.

Remus looked at her as if she’d asked him if he was really a wizard, “Of course—of course I’ll miss you. It’ll be a bit lonely without our little gremlin.”

He scooted closer to her, and Cyren wished he’d put his arm around her but he didn’t. Hesitantly, Cyren scooted, too, until her arm was barely touching his. There was some rustling, then a chocolate bar being extended toward her. Cyren smiled, and Remus beamed back at her. His smile, just for her, resumed the butter-churning in her stomach and she remembered what he had said in the infirmary earlier.

“And do you really not want this jumper anymore?” Cyren asked, trying to sound aloof while desperately praying he would not change his mind.

“It’s not that I don’t want it; just maybe you should hold onto it, if you’d like,” Remus murmured, “So we can see if it’s really lucky or not.”

“Okay,” Cyren breathed, then mentally slapped herself for sounding so…breathy.

Her heart was going to beat right out of her chest, the thing had gone completely rabid. Remus Lupin had given her his own jumper for an indefinite amount of time! She was going to take it off as soon as she got back to the dormitory and put it somewhere safe, instead of constantly wearing it and having the smell fade within days. Wearing it once in a while would be alright, though not more than once a week. And she would never wash it, she vowed.

She wasn’t sure about next year, but she felt okay in this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank god for ao3 bc i opened up my docs to post the new chapter today and my Word was ACTING UP. so after thirty min of blind troubleshooting, i've fixed it heheheh...and it's great that I fixed it now instead of later while trying to do an essay for school at the last minute... 
> 
> thank you for reading! i'm trying to update every other thursday!!


	10. get lost, Rosier!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 4 playlists for this fic, let me know if you want me to make them public on spotify or include them in my notes next week! we’ve got a general marauders mix, one for love, one for angsty love, and one for general thrill. im going to be dropping song recs regardless though, whoops. writing a lot of this story to Vancouver Sleep Clinic, Sufjan Stevens. 
> 
> also I’m a little late to the Nagini news, but what the actual. F. as an Asian (woman??) myself…disgust. so much disgust. writing my fic does help me ignore the parts of hp/jk rowling I don’t agree with…a flimsy coping mechanism, but eh.

“Maybe we need to be nice to her,” Mulciber blurted out.

“ _What._ ”

Rosier agreed with Avery’s deadpan. Being nice did not get you far, if anywhere at all. Everything was much swifter and guaranteed with force and he liked to do things effectively.

“Be nice to her, instead of ambushing her and yelling insults?” Mulciber elaborated, clearly exasperated.

He did not want to get hexed again for saying something stupid.

“And slowly win her over, like we do to the lower-tier Death Eaters,” Rosier finished.

Avery did not like the determined gleam that had suddenly rose in Rosier’s eyes.

“It’s a bit of a lengthy conversion process, but I suppose it will do. I was almost ready to give up on her myself,” Rosier continued as the gears shifted in his calculating brain, “We can apologize, be amicable, ask to just be friends. Plant some of the quieter Slytherins around her as friends, too, and she can be easily won over. She’s isolated herself to the Marauders, so she’s vulnerable if we can give her contact with other students. She won’t suspect if it comes on slowly.”

“Peer pressure…?” Avery asked confusedly.

Mulciber shrugged, but his relief was visible upon realization that his haphazard idea had not been violently rebuked.

“Avery, you stay behind for this one,” Rosier added.

“Why?”

“Because she hit you in the balls last time. Perhaps she’ll feel less threatened without you around; you somehow tick her off easily.”

“We all do,” Avery grumbled, but accepted the order nonetheless.

//

Cyren did not see the Trio for the next few days at all, which was much relief to her. They had apparently been dealt some detentions and perhaps that was enough to deter them for a while. She wished detentions and the Marauders’ wrath would be enough to keep the Trio away forever but that was naïve, unrealistic optimism.

Meanwhile, the Marauders were being surprisingly nice to her—or just James and Sirius, since Remus was always nice and Peter was always…Peter. They checked up on her in between classes, the defense lessons had started, and Sirius even brought her a giant bag of her favorite sea-salt caramels from Honeydukes. James told the house elves to make her treacle tarts. The bandages had to be changed daily, and her brother often walked her to the hospital wing for that, too.

It was a little unnerving to be treated like a hospital patient amongst them, but Cyren grudgingly accepted it and hoped for a faster recovery. She just wanted things to be quiet and normal again. Until then, holing up in the library was a good enough substitute. There was a corner that she and the Marauders frequented, but Cyren liked to think of it as her spot in the library since she was there the most. James and Sirius hardly ever studied, being the infuriatingly smart and unbelievably lazy wizards they were. She could call it her and Remus’s spot since he often studied there with her; at the same time, the idea of calling it _their_ spot made her want to gag. That sounded like a very star-crossed lovers type of thing to do, and she was neither star-crossed or his lover. Cyren mentally gagged at the term ‘lover,’ too.

Remus had saw Cyren tense slightly, out of the corner of his eye. He paused in the middle of a sentence for his Defense Against the Dark Arts paper and tried to nonchalantly check on Cyren, glancing at her through his lashes. He stoles glances at her often and felt guilty for doing so; it made him feel like a creepy bloke sometimes.

Something that looked like appall flashed across her face as if she had just remembered an unpleasant memory. She had also made that face once during dinner last year when she accidentally bit into a mushroom hidden in her sandwich. Cyren made weird faces or utterances often and he often figured it was because of something she was thinking; she was quiet, but he felt like she thought loudly. She also scrunched up her nose a lot, and her nose twitched sometimes when she was mad or thinking. He thought that particular quirk was especially cute. It reminded him of bunnies.

He slid her his bar of chocolate across the table, and Cyren quirked a small grin at the offering.

“Knut for your thoughts?” he asked softly, and Cyren’s grin widened just a bit more.

He liked making others smile or laugh, but with Cyren it felt like an even bigger accomplishment than with anyone else.

“Just thinking,” Cyren replied vaugely, “Did my face do a weird thing again?”

He nodded, smiling a bit. It had been cute, not that he would ever tell anyone that.

Cyren groaned, lying her face down on the table, and he chuckled. The good moment was ruined momentarily by someone clearing their throat. He didn’t even need to look to know that it was an annoying person.

It was Rosier, with Mulciber standing unhappily behind him. Avery was missing and Remus did a discreet check around them to make sure he wasn’t hiding behind a shelf or something. Rosier was staring straight at Cyren, without any acknowledgement to Remus.

“Can I talk to you alone?” Rosier asked, unperturbed by the tension that had palpably risen upon his arrival.

“Go. Away,” Cyren said icily as she glared up at the Slytherin, her chin still pressed to the table.

“I’d like to apologize,” Rosier said calmly, and Remus was shocked.

Cyren looked dumbstruck as well, her eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion. Rosier was never the type to apologize, ever. Maybe as a concession to get out of trouble if he was ever caught by a teacher, but never otherwise. He is probably not sincere at all, Remus decided.

“Okay, now go,” Cyren waved him away, but Rosier did not budge.

“We were horribly aggressive the past few times we’ve run across each other. I’d just like you to know that we’re all sorry, and we’re just trying to amiable.”

“What a load of dragon dung,” Cyren stated flatly, verbalizing exactly what Remus had been thinking. Internally, he beamed at her.

Rosier just raised an eyebrow lazily, as if Cyren would change her mind any second now. Instead, she turned two middle fingers up and scrunched her nose at the boys. Then, she said something quickly under her breath. Remus had seen Sirius do the spell a couple times before, the pants-wetting spell. The spell charmed water into one’s clothing, but Sirius used it primarily to make fake pee stains on certain Slytherins. Sometimes the sensation also made the recipient actually pee as an unfortunate reaction. By the look on Mulciber’s face, he had had one of those unfortunate reactions.

Remus was even more impressed now, but the Slytherins were crossed. Rosier dried himself with an agitated flick of his wand while Mulciber fumbled, trying to cover the giant, damp splotches bleeding through his pants with his clumsy hands.

Mulciber pointed an incriminating finger at Cyren, “You need to snap out of it and come back to the right side. Narcissa is marrying Lucius Malfoy, and we can’t lose the House of Black.”

She snorted—did they really think some sense of duty would convince her to join the Death Eaters? She had run away from home to escape it. And so much for them trying to keep their cool and play it nice.

“How are you going to keep the Black name pure if I’m to marry Rosier? I’ll become a Rosier like Narcissa becomes a Malfoy."

The news about her cousin did not surprise her. Narcissa and Lucius had been dating for a while, and Andromeda was the only one who was cool in that family anyways.

“He’s also her second cousin,” Remus mused, and Cyren let out an exaggerated gag (well, not that exaggerated).

She had never paid much attention to the family tree. In fact, she tried to avoid that cursed thing and purposely tuned her mother out whenever Walburga rambled about their family, or anyone’s family, for that matter. Cyren was not surprised that Remus knew Rosier’s relation to her, but she was horrified that Rosier was not even that distant of a cousin. A second cousin, Merlin’s beard.

Mulciber was at a loss for words, clearly not anticipating them to poke such holes in his claim.

“She’s your cousin?” Mulciber hissed loudly at Rosier, failing horribly at his attempt to whisper.

Cyren was not going to let her second cousin dignify that with a response.

“Besides, I have no intention of marrying Rosier. Ever. Over my dead, rotting body!” she snarled at the Slytherins, “Now go!”

“Can’t we at least be friends, Cyren?” Rosier asked calmly, and the way he purred her name made the hairs on the back of Remus’s neck stand up.

Remus tightened his grip on his wand, readying himself. He wished they would just leave right now.

“You heard her, scram,” Remus jerked his neck to the way they’d come from.

“You don’t deserve to be hanging out with her,” Rosier sneered at Remus, “You’re keeping bad company, Cyren; you deserve more.”

Cyren stood up from her chair so fast it almost fell over. She was fuming, and Remus held his breath. So much fury in such a small body, he marveled. He was also a little scared, because the way her grey eyes flashed with anger reminded him much of a royally pissed Sirius.

“Don’t talk to Remus like that,” she growled, “I get to choose what I want to be, and it’s not a Death Eater. And I’ll tell you what I deserve—it’s better than you, Rosier! You’re the lowest of the low, you infuriating piece of—”

A purple spark erupted from the end of her wand, and the word “SHIT” appeared on Rosier’s forehead in bold, red print. Sirius would be very pleased when he heard about this, Remus figured. Rosier slid a hand over his forehead, gritting his teeth firmly. He strode forward, and Remus’s heart leapt up into his throat as Cyren stepped to meet him.

“Silencio!” she ordered, the Silencing Charm rendering Rosier mute immediately.

“Come on, Remus,” Cyren muttered as she stuffed her books into her bag.

Although she was ecstatic that this confrontation had gone exceptionally well—she had performed the Silencing Charm!—she didn’t want to be around Rosier and Mulciber any longer than she had to. Especially when Rosier was angry.

“Where’d Mulciber go?” Cyren asked suddenly, realizing he had been unusually quiet.

Remus pointed to the Slytherin in question, lying prone on the floor. He had shot a nonverbal Full-Body Bind at Mulciber earlier when the boy had reached for his wand.

“Oh, good work,” Cyren chuckled, and she instantly put Rosier into the Full-Body Bind, too.

As the Gryffindors walked past him, Rosier caught the fond look Cyren gave Remus. His eyes narrowed at the unusually oversized jumper she was wearing, and slowly the dots connected in his head. Cyren would not leave the Marauders, he decided. The girl was stupidly in love with that pathetic Lupin, of all people. So be it, Rosier thought to himself. She’d pay the price sooner or later for being a blood traitor—and that price was paid in blood itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i the only person who snickered at "knut for your thoughts" god i am so immature
> 
> just realized this chapter is sorta short haha. the next ones will be longer!


	11. confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you know what time it is!! heheh...questionable execution though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **tip: Don’t Speak by No Doubt is going to be a great song to play on loop for this chapter and many others in this fic. bc that is exactly the type of angst I am striving to convey.**

Since Remus was sick again, Cyren was studying in the library alone tonight. She generally liked having some time to herself, but found she came away from this solo study session feeling abysmally pathetic. It was the clenching in Cyren’s gut every time she glanced at the empty seat across from her—that was all she needed to know that she missed him.

If she missed him this much after not seeing the boy for two days, how was she going to survive next year?  And despite the fact that Remus got sick every month like clockwork, she couldn’t help but be a little worried—seemingly more worried than the Marauders themselves. She had never been able to find Remus in the infirmary when he was sick, so she couldn’t even visit him. Her presence would be annoying though, Cyren figured. Then there was the issue of so badly wanting to visit him in the first place. Bringing soup to someone sick was a nice idea in theory, but the desire to do so was also another reminder of how pathetically whipped she was for the boy.

“We’re not even together or anything,” Cyren mumbled to herself as she shuffled up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower.

She was still shaking her head agitatedly as she slid under her covers, scrunching her nose up at the stubborn image of sitting at Remus’s bedside. Bringing him soup, a chocolate bar. Seeing him smile. Cyren shook her head a little more furiously and shut her eyes in tight frustration as she jerked the blanket up to her chin.

“Stupid girl,” she growled under her breath, “Stop it.”

Instead, a lumpy warmth uncoiled in the pit of her stomach as her small mental fantasy persisted. His smile, god damn it. Cyren inhaled sharply as images of Remus’s long fingers flashed behind her eyelids, the slight veins on the back of his hands, his warm palms sliding over hers—

Suddenly, a howl pierced the night, ripping through her lukewarm half-dreams. The sound tore through not only the dead silence of whatever god-forsaken hour this was, but also her heart. Regardless of where the sound had come from, it had been an unmistakably agonized cry. One of the other three girls turned over quietly in bed but no one awoke. Alone, Cyren held her breath, eagerly awaiting another howl. 

Sometimes, although rarely, werewolf cries could be heard on school grounds during nights of the full moon. More likely were real wolves, or whatever things haunted the Shrieking Shack. Sounds from the latter were scarce and the reputation of the shack really preceded the actual place. Cyren herself was half-convinced that it was really a ruse, some prank by Hogwarts students. Not that she wasn’t afraid of ghosts though, especially malevolent ones at that.

A few minutes passed and Cyren slid back down in her bed once she decided that the mysterious howler would probably not be making any more cries tonight. Just as she closed her eyes though, something caught her ear. It had sounded like a rough yell, something of anger—or fear? Although she was diligently holding her breath again and there was no other interference—not even wind against the windows tonight—there were no more sounds. No mysterious pained howls or the relatively more human-like yells.

She fell asleep in the middle of compiling a mental list of possible creatures that could have made such sounds.

//

The next day, the boys weren’t at breakfast. Cyren was not surprised that Remus was missing; even though it was around time for him to come back to classes (he was usually out for 3-4 days) sometimes he needed extra time when it was a particularly bad one. The silence was strange, but she tried not to dwell on it too much. Instead, her mind shuffled through her classes for the day as she tried to figure out when would be the best time to go to Hogsmeade to restock her candy arsenal.

“Hey James—” her voice fell short when she looked up from her biscuit and remembered that the boys were not here.

Cyren had been about to ask him for the cloak to sneak into Hogsmeade tonight. Her slip-up birthed some sense of shame within her, which quickly gave way to general dejectedness. The Marauders had probably gone off on some grand adventure last night—reckless but grand nonetheless—and overslept. Or they were running one of their elaborate pranks right now, without her.

 //

She still hadn’t seen any of the Marauders by the time her classes were over and was heavily contemplating eating dinner with the house elves as she trudged out of the Transfiguration classroom.

Hints of a scuffle from the corridor behind her made Cyren pause, and her ears picked up poorly hushed voices and the soft sound of punches being exchanged. Curious, and hopeful that she would find the Marauders at the heart of it, Cyren rounded the corner.

She was not exactly sure what she expected to find, but the scene just reeked of wrong. Snape initially appeared to be shaking with fury, but upon closer examination Cyren saw that his eyes were dilated with fear as well. There were no other Slytherins, just the four Marauders. Sirius and Snape were the ones fighting, James looking conflicted and pulling at his hair. Peter glanced back and forth between the fight, James, and Remus slumped against the wall.

The look on Sirius’s face was what told her something was wrong—there was panic. Her brother did not panic often and when he did, it usually meant the group had gotten into some very serious, physically-devastating trouble. A cursory check showed that no one’s limbs were missing, but Cyren’s mind was still scrambling to catch on to the situation as five heads snapped toward her intrusion.

“Cy-” Remus warned as he straightened up a bit.

He looked much more awful than he usually did after the other times he’d been sick, the bags under his eyes heavier and darker. He was so pale and gaunt; Cyren felt like she might leave an indent if she poked his cheek. But it was the look in his eyes that struck her, the utter hopelessness. Cyren wondered what had happened to make him look so remorseful—it was all very, very wrong. Just as she was about to ask Remus what was wrong, Snape broke out of Sirius’s grip, stumbling toward her.

Cyren froze, a hand darting toward the wand in her pocket. Of course, Sirius and James already had their wands out and pointed at the Slytherin before her fingers even brushed against hers.

“I’m not telling anyone,” Snape snarled at the Marauders, before snapping his gaze back at her.

There was silence, until James politely coughed, lowered his wand, and murmured, “Thank you, Severus.”

Something was definitely wrong if James was calling Snape by his first and real name—and politely, too. What in Merlin’s underwear was going on? Were the Marauders conspiring with Snape? Did they owe Snape something? The gleam in Snape’s eyes, almost feverish, signified that he knew how utterly lost she was, and he smirked.

“Poor Cyren, always left out. But you probably won’t want to hang out with the Marauders anymore, now that you know Remus is a werewolf.”

The temperature in the corridor dropped in sync with some unnamable feeling in her stomach. Someone let out a strangled whimper, and Cyren was too afraid to look around, afraid that it might have been Remus. There was silence as the blood in her ears started pounding, her heart beating faster and faster as Snape’s sickly grin widened.

“You bloody liar! I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your dirty mouth shut!” Sirius snarled, leaping toward the Slytherin, but Snape dodged the attack. James had moved too, and Cyren was surprised to see him holding Sirius back.

“I’m telling only her, because she has a crush on the werewolf,” Snape declared loftily, and Cyren inhaled sharply.

There was a nervous chuckle from Peter, until he saw the look of devastation on Cyren’s face fall deeper. The smallest Marauder let out a squeak.

Her heart felt like it was going to burst right out of her chest now, and Cyren realized she was shaking just as much as Snape was. The look in his eyes was growing madder by the minute, and her mind was swimming with the newfound information—she knew it was the truth. Everything made sense now: Remus’s illnesses, the Marauders seeming not to care when he did get sick, the feeling that there was a little something that divided her from them. They had known all this time and kept it from her. No one was denying it now.

Snape’s mad look was schooled into something of arrogant content. He looked at her expectantly, as if he was waiting for her to announce her switch to the Death Eaters or kiss his hand for this bit of information. But he had just confessed her own secret as well and there was no one she hated more in the moment than Severus Snape. Her cheeks burned as Cyren fumbled for the right words, smarting from the betrayal and crippling humiliation. How had he known?

 “You can thank me later,” Snape replied once he realized she was incapable of speech.

His attempt at aloof collectedness was sabotaged by the trembles in his hand as he tugged his cloak closer to his body. Cyren glared at the Slytherin, trying to pull herself together. She couldn’t afford to break down now, in front of everyone.

“Get out, Snape,” Cyren emitted each word slowly and deliberately, not because she wanted to sound menacing, but because she was trying her hardest to sound unaffected.

Snape seemed taken aback by her words, and Cyren realized he had meant to turn her against the Marauders, or have her react much more strongly, at the very least. She was going to break sooner or later, but not now, and not in front of Snape. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“You really want to be with them? They tried to kill me! And your little crush,” he hissed the word, making the hairs on Cyren’s neck stand up, “almost tore me to shreds. Remus Lupin is a monster.”

In that moment, Cyren’s confusion and hurt was momentarily blocked out by a new anger that washed over her at hearing the caustic words Snape had spat. She wanted, terribly, to punch him straight in the gut but her fist stilled in midair as she calculated the dangers. Snape was probably the only other person besides the Marauders who knew about Remus, and he would be more inclined to go running his mouth if she hit him. It definitely did not help that Sirius had probably pummeled Snape plenty in an attempt to silence him before she had arrived.

Snape had no business running his mouth about Remus’s secret; it would be devastating for the latter if word got out. There was no doubt in Cyren’s mind that Rmeus would be forced to leave Hogwarts and there would always be rumors…bad ones. The idea of people looking down on Remus twisted like a dirty knife in her heart.

“Remus is not a monster,” Cyren growled at Snape, as she lowered her fist.

Snape was looking at her now with the same unfiltered contempt he’d shown the Marauders all these years, and he exhaled dramatically, disbelieving.

“You’re a _stupid_ girl,” Snape shot back, “He tried to kill me!”

Cyren ignored the Slytherin’s desperate words and instead steeled herself, “You’re not going to tell anyone else.”

Snape paused for a minute to look about the Marauders, lingering on Remus. Snape turned back to Cyren and nodded reluctantly, “I won’t tell anyone. But you all leave me alone, or else I’ll tell whoever I please.”

The Marauders nodded mutely at his warning. Cyren stepped up to block Snape as he was about to head out, and the boy raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

“I want you to promise,” Cyren began, but Snape interrupted her with a sneer.

“A pinky-promise? How cute, little Black.”

Cyren wrinkled her nose at the proffered hand, shaking her head.

“Unbreakable Vow, Snape.”

Remus’s head snapped up silently, confusion and something else contorting inside of his chest. Snape narrowed his black eyes at her, nodding slowly after a couple minutes of contemplation.c

'Very well. What are the exact conditions?”

“Will you, Severus Snape, never tell anyone that Remus Lupin is a werewolf?” Cyren replied evenly.

Snape nodded, “Will you, Cyren Black, make sure the Marauders never bother me again?”

Cyren glanced at the Marauders to make sure they understood. If someone broke an Unbreakable Vow, they died—her life was on the line.

“Cy, you don’t have to do this,” her brother pleaded.

“It’s the only way,” she argued, without looking at Remus.

She didn’t want to know what he was feeling right now. Yet as conflicted as she felt toward Remus in this instant, she knew she didn’t want him hurt, and that she would do everything in her power to protect him. Sure this might be a little dramatic, but it was good to err on the side of caution when her friend’s life was on the line.

“If you’re sure, Cyren,” James began warily, “You have our word. We won’t bother Severus anymore.”

Sirius frowned at his best friend but nodded reluctantly in agreement. Remus was still silent.

James stumbled forward as Snape and Cyren knelt down on the ground opposite of each other. Drawing his wand out, James’s serious eyes silently searched Cyren’s face for any last-minute signs of uncertainty. There were none. As they clasped their right hands together, Cyren tried not to think about how wet Snape’s hand was. They were both shaking again but trying to regard each other coolly. James began the incantation, repeating verbatim the single condition Cyren had made earlier.

“I will,” Snape agreed quietly to the terms, and a red ribbon of flame wrapped around their clasped hands.

The pain was sharp but fleeting, and Cyren accidentally squeezed Snape’s hand in response. Another flame erupted from James’s wand as Cyren affirmed her vow. As soon as the second flame died out, their hands dropped back to their sides and the two fumbled back into standing position. Snape looked at his hand as if he had just stuck it into a pot of shit, and Cyren held hers loosely at her side. She was a bit too old for cooties, but the feeling of Snape’s hand-sweat presently sticking to her palms made her want to immediately cast several cleaning spells.  

“Is that all?” Snape huffed, glaring at her as he shoved his hand back into his pocket.

Cyren gave a single nod, “Thank you, Snape.”

He turned on his heels and strode out of the corridor stiffly while Cyren’s right hand twitched at her side.      

“Wow,” Peter breathed, finally breaking the silence after a couple minutes. 

Cyren turned around to face the Marauders, who were coming together now. They all looked especially weary, she noticed. Remus wouldn’t meet her eyes, but she could see that the tension in his shoulders had lessened. Sirius examined her face for a split second before his mouth quirked into a small grin.

“Smart move, sister. A little dramatic, but nice,” he reached out to tousle her hair but Cyren dodged his hand.

There was no way she was letting them sweep this under the rug and pretend that everything was alright. 

“How long have you known?” she demanded.

Sirius was taken aback at her hostility, and he put his hands up apologetically.

“Look, it was a secret. We didn’t tell anyone,” Sirius argued, “No one.”

“For how long?” Cyren persisted; _how long had they kept her in the dark?_  

“Since second year,” Peter piped up bluntly, and James winced.

Cyren felt as if she had been punched in the gut, not for the first time since this whole ordeal.      

“Cyren,” Remus started, his voice scratchy and low, “Don’t be angry at them. I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want them to tell you.”

His words stung, and Cyren spun toward him. He looked sheepish. Miserable. And also like he was going to faint. She noticed a thin bandage under his left eye and some bandages around his hands. Remus was in pain in more ways than one, but all Cyren could think about right now was how hurt _she_ was. He had never trusted her—he was never going to tell her. She had just done an Unbreakable Vow for him with only the slightest of hesitations. _I trust you,_ she wanted to scream at him. _Why don’t you trust me, too?_

“I thought we were friends,” she choked out, regretting her cliché, childish words the second they left her mouth.

Cliché or not, Remus’s eyes widened as his mouth suddenly grew dry. He knew he had to say something but could find neither the words nor the strength to reply. Cyren took one more look at him and ran away because the ache in her throat could no longer be suppressed.

“Cyren! Oi, Cyren!” Sirius hollered after her, but she was nowhere near ready to forgive any of the Marauders yet, if ever.

She didn’t want to see any of their faces right now, not until she sorted out all her feelings and various griefs. The tears welled up in Cyren’s eyes as she dashed down the hallways and she grit her teeth in an unsuccessful attempt to curb the oncoming flood. Tearing through the common room like a madwoman, Cyren raced up to her dormitory to throw herself onto her bed. 

Deep, choked sobs shook her body as she unraveled. It had started with the fear that had been there all along—the fear of always being seen as annoying and childish, just Sirius Black’s younger sister tagging along. She hadn’t felt that way in a while, but the insecurity engulfed her now. It turned out she didn’t even need to wait for next year to be left behind, Cyren thought bitterly. She had been left out since the very beginning of all this and didn’t stand a chance. Remus didn’t trust her, and he hadn’t for the past sixth years.

 Cyren buried her head into her pillow to muffle a pathetic wail. _Fucking adolescent crushes and hormones making everything much more heightened._ The betrayal was shredding her to absolute pieces. She curled up into the fetal position in a poor attempt to collect herself.

 _It’s not just a crush though,_ Cyren thought as she rationalized her despair, _because Remus is first and foremost a friend._ It would have hurt regardless of her other, non-platonic feelings for him. And there was her brother, and James, and Peter. Although she did not call herself a Marauder, she had considered them her friends. She wasn’t sure what to think of the boys now.

All she could think about was how much it ached everywhere. The ache in her throat that persisted even though she was crying freely now. The ache in her legs from all the tension and shaking earlier. And all the other weird aches in her chest and gut that came with the realization that everything was not at all what she had thought it was. She had never expected Remus to return her affections at all, but she had never imagined the trust between them to be one-sided as well.

After some time, the tears began slowing down—mostly due to exhaustion, but also because her brain was finally wrapping itself around everything. She couldn’t find it in herself to be mad at Remus at all. She knew absolutely nothing about being a werewolf, just that transformations were excruciatingly painful and their reputation in the wizarding world awful. Weres seldom got jobs, and often lived on the streets or in hiding. Nearly everyone was afraid of them or looked down on them.

The fact that he had not confided in her still stung, but Cyren found herself glumly accepting Remus’s decision. Was there something about her, she wondered? Something that still screamed child, immature, useless? She supposed she was useless—what could she have done if Remus told her anyways? A hug wasn’t going to make him feel better.

Cyren didn’t know what was the worse—that Remus had never intended to tell her, or that there was absolutely nothing she could do to help him now that she did know.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmaooo so one of my suitemates tried to find my fic. thank god hp is the biggest fandom ever and she’ll never find this—she doesn’t even know what filters to set bc she doesn’t read fanfiction. but it was funny explaining tags to her and hearing her ask what things were. “what’s slash?”


	12. another secret, something you can keep

“Cyren likes Remus?” Sirius gaped, astounded, at the boy in question.

“No way,” James interjected quickly, “Snivellus must have been playing with us. She’s basically like all of our sisters! Sister?”

Remus shuffled his feet nervously. He would very much rather direct their attention to address the other issue with Cyren. The fact that she had basically run away on the verge of tears _because of him_. If he could, he would go back and change it all—he thought he could get away with hiding the truth from her forever but that was naïve. Now that it was out, the damage was more than he could have ever feared and he was sure they’d never be the same again. His chest hurt, and he discreetly tried to massage it with a weak hand.

“Remus, do you think Cyren likes you?”

Heat erupted in his face at Sirius’s pointed question. This was awful; Snape was truly a harbinger of hell. Not only did Remus feel like the world’s biggest piece of shit for betraying Cyren’s trust—and having to watch Snape reveal that—but now he had found out that she liked him, too. Or at least Snape had said so. If it was true, then the warm, soupy feeling growing in his stomach would not be a mistake.

With a start, he realized what he done and knew that any hope he harvested toward Cyren would be false. There would be no way she could forgive him; forget about their friendship, she would want nothing to do with him now that she knew what he truly was.

 _But she said you weren’t a monster,_ a tiny voice in his head whispered most unhelpfully. Remus was trying hard not to think about Cyren’s angry defense for him against Snape. The Unbreakable Vow she had taken. The implications. He didn’t want to think about all that, because it felt dangerous—like hope, like something good. He certainly did not deserve any of that.

He realized that the boys were waiting for him to come out of his jumbled thoughts and answer Sirius’s burning question. Remus didn’t want to, but it felt like everything was moving too fast for him to step back and observe. The desire to run away and hide had never been stronger than _now._   

“She’s been in love with him for the past six years!” Peter shrieked shrilly, and all three heads swiveled to the small boy.

“What,” Sirius spat, stepping back as if Peter had just sprouted two more heads.

“Bloody hell,” James muttered.

“It’s been so obvious! And now everyone knows, so I don’t have to keep it a secret anymore,” Peter rattled on, “I found out right away when she was a first year. But she hits me every time I almost slip up. Thank Merlin I don’t have to watch my mouth anymore; I’m awful at keeping secrets. Not that you blokes would have found out anyways unless—until Snape told you! Hahaw! You guys really are a dense lot.”

Sirius’s jaw dropped and Remus’s heart sped up maniacally—he didn’t think the thing could beat any faster really, but today was really testing him.

“So, you like Cyren?” Peter asked, looking at Remus curiously.

Remus looked at Sirius’s face, wondering if that was horror in the elder Black sibling’s expression or not. 

“N—no,” Remus replied, his voice shaky and thin.

Sirius’s face broke into a grin instantaneously as he clapped Remus on the back, “Oh thank god, mate! I wouldn’t know what to do if you guys—nevermind.” 

A chuckle was somehow forced out of Remus’s mouth as Sirius slung his arm over the taller boy’s shoulders. As if nothing was wrong, and everything would be alright. The crush Remus could ignore for now. He wanted to keep it to himself—a selfish thing to do, but it felt like something precious and not at all something he knew how to deal with right away. He wanted to pretend it was something he hadn’t already ruined. But he could not wash the hurt on Cyren’s face out of his mind, the look she’d had when he couldn’t answer her question.

“W-we need to talk to her,” Remus mumbled.

“I’ll talk to her,” Sirius volunteered cheerily, “Do we tell her we’re Animagi or not?”

The look in his eyes was serious despite his jovial tone, and James nodded back affirmatively.

“Sure,” Peter chirped in agreement.

“She may want to become one, too,” James added, “She cares for Remus just as much as we do.”

 _No she doesn’t,_ Remus wanted to argue, _not after what I did._ _Not after today._ But the rites of the Unbreakable Vow echoed in his head, and he just couldn’t understand why she would do such a thing to ensure his protection—at the cost of her life, should any of them break the conditions. Her brother seemed to be thinking similar thoughts.

“I’m still not particularly happy about that Unbreakable Vow,” Sirius grumbled darkly, “We can’t touch Snivellus now or she fucking dies.” 

James patted Sirius on the arm, “It was really smart of her. We can ignore Snivellus though; we’ve had enough go’s at him for the past six years.”

Sirius huffed.

Remus was glad that the Marauders had decided to completely avoid Snape altogether. If he could, he would undo all of last night. The idea that he could have killed someone shook him to his core. He hadn’t exactly forgiven the boys for the prank gone awry yet, and he had been shaken enough to make that clear. A small part of him knew he never could. And that was yet another thing to stew on—his mind was drowning in an unholy amalgam of emotions.

 _Too much, too much_ , he thought. He couldn’t handle it all; everything going so wrong and only a little bit of right.

Snape had found out about his condition in the most horrible way, as had Cyren. Yet on the other hand, Snape was not dead and Cyren didn’t seem to hate him as much as he’d dreaded. _False hope,_ Remus scolded himself. He had no right to assume what she felt toward him, regardless of her earlier actions.

He had not realized that the boys had been discussing the Animagi process without him until he returned to the conversation and caught a snippet: “—yeah, in plenty of time before his next full moon.” Chills ran down Remus’s spine at the thought of Cyren seeing him transformed. That couldn’t possibly happen; she would be utterly horrified, she would be another friend he could accidentally hurt during his shift, and the list went on and on.

 _She will say no,_ Remus decided. Cyren had done the Unbreakable Vow but he was sure that was the extent of her…sympathy. She wouldn’t want to get any closer to his problem than that.

 

//  

 

Cyren was a very messy crier and soon her pillowcase was damp with tears and snot. She was wiping away the latter from her nose with the back of her hand when a knock on the door made her pause. The unstoppable crying had stopped a while ago and she was just sniffing now. It was late, she realized, looking out the window to see the sky a darkening expanse of lavender-grey.

“Who is it?” she called out in what she hoped was a believably casual and aloof voice.

 If it had been any of her dormitory mates, they would have just strode in without bothering to knock. Instead, the door opened tentatively, before her brother entered without a word.

Cyren narrowed her puffy eyes at him: Sirius, ever the opportunist. His timing was impeccable because she wasn’t in the full throes of agony anymore, but he still got to see the pathetic evidence of what she had been doing for the past few hours.

There were no smart remarks though, just a dinner plate placed carefully in front of her as Sirius sat down gently on the ground. He was being far too quiet and careful for her liking.

“Spill it,” Cyren demanded, deciding not to look at the plate of food.

She’d glimpsed treacle tart amidst the little meat pies—he really knew how to get to her. Her stomach growled but she pointedly ignored the traitorous organ.

“I’m sorry—we’re all sorry,” Sirius began, looking at her earnestly, “Very sorry for not telling you. For six years.” 

Cyren exhaled shakily and was glad when no tears rushed out, despite the fact that Sirius’s words were poking at her very fresh wounds. Her brother grimaced at the twisted look on her face as she tried to wrangle her emotions back in.

“We found out in second year that Remus was a werewolf. His dad angered Fenrir Greyback, and Greyback decided to attack five-year-old Remus as revenge.”

Sirius’s eyes were glued to the ceiling and Cyren recognized the tactic as one to distance himself. _It’s hard for him to talk about this,_ Cyren realized. There was palpable anger in her brother’s voice and Cyren shivered at the mention of Greyback. He was no doubt one of the scariest wizards she had ever heard of.

“We found out in second year and worked really hard to find a way to help him. His transformations were really painful—he was _‘out sick’_ for a longer back then than he is now. I suppose he never wanted to tell you because he was afraid you’d run away or something. You know Remus, always thinking he’s not good enough. Now you know why, sort of. We also cornered him when we worked his secret out and had to swear not to tell anyone. It really wasn’t to hurt you, Cy. Anyways, two years ago, we finally got it down so we could be with him during his shifts. 

Cyren knew that there was something else Sirius was holding back. She could tell from the way he was biting his lip and surveying her, his eyes serious. How could they possibly accompany Remus during his shifts?

“In fifth year, we became unregistered Animagi. Peter is a rat—Wormtail—James is Prongs the stag, I’m Padfoot the dog. And Remus is Moony, because he’s a werewolf.”

While she should have felt even more betrayed, Cyren was left with awe and deep-seated jealousy. They were Animagi, for Merlin’s sake; how they even managed to pull that off, she didn’t even know. She really was too far behind the Marauders. Sirius examined her solemnly, watching his sister grapple with the conflicting emotions that had sprung up at yet another secret.   

“And we’d like to invite you to join, if you’d like. The process is long and by no means easy, but we know you care for Remus. And you know now.” 

“Become an Animagus?” Cyren squeaked, hardly believing the offer.

“Yes,” Sirius murmured, “I’d rather you didn’t know about any of this at all.” 

Cyren frowned, realizing that her own brother was on the same page as Remus. A double betrayal, yet another reminder of how inferior they really viewed her. There was silence as she stewed in her anger and grief, trying to decide if she should throw Sirius out of her room now or wait a little longer. 

“James convinced me otherwise,” Sirius added softly after a couple minutes, “And also I realize I’ve been overprotective…for a while.” 

His confession was so raw that Cyren could hear the crack in his voice. When she glanced at her brother, he was purposely avoiding her eyes again and glaring at the floor instead. 

“I agreed with Remus’s decision to keep it from you all these years, because one, it is his secret after all…but also because you’re my little sister. I just want you to be happy…and safe…after all the shit that Mu—Walburga’s done. I thought it best you didn’t know,” Sirius admitted bitterly, “about Remus."  

It was painful to watch Sirius admit so, and Cyren found herself holding her breath. She had never known him to feel this way, and Sirius Black expressing such unfiltered emotions was unheard of. Even after they’d left the family house, there had been no emotional speeches. They’d shared a common understanding that they’d been through a lot and that it was all in the past. They had endured and conspired and communicated the heavy things mostly through silent looks all their lives and there was no need to verbally address such burdens.

Sirius cleared his throat; his fists were now clenched tight, his knuckles turning white. He still refused to look at her and she glanced at the door instead of poring over his face, in an attempt to ease him.

“Remember when I came home for Christmas in my first year?” Sirius asked, “You had a black eye and so many other bruises—and you looked at me like I was the best present ever when I came through the door. I hated the rest of first year after Christmas Break, because it meant while I was—”

Sirius inhaled sharply, and Cyren gritted her teeth at the sound of his shaky, breathy chuckle.  

“While I was having fun at school, free of Walburga, you were home with her. Alone,” Sirius spat the last few words, the disgust in his voice directed toward himself.

Cyren climbed down from the bed and slid next to her brother, closing her eyes tight as she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. Sirius’s first year had been awful to her, without him there to protect her from Walburga. But she had never once blamed him for any of the torment or not being there to help. She had done what she did best, silently endure, and now they were disowned and out of that cursed place.

“I never wanted— _want_ —never want, to see you like that ever again. Not that I thought Remus would hurt you—or any of us—but I put you in the dark because things were easier. It was easier to pretend you were still my kid sister under my responsibility and I thought I was doing a good job.”

Her eyes still closed, Cyren squeezed Sirius’s middle a little tighter. He exhaled another shaky laugh, reaching out with an apprehensive hand to ruffle her hair. She let him this time.

“You’re an amazing older brother,” Cyren argued quietly into his shoulder, “I do need protecting sometimes, and I wouldn’t have made it through the house without you. But thank you for realizing…that I’ve grown up.”

Her brother hummed for a few seconds, patting her head thoughtfully.

“Can I still beat him up for not returning your affections though?” Sirius asked flippantly, and Cyren socked him in the stomach once she realized his emotional time was over.

“What did you say?” she hissed as she jerked back up, not at all sorry at the pained look on Sirius’s face.

“Nevermind, you can take care of that yourself,” Sirius decided, laughing, “You’re in loooove with him, aren’t you?”

He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively and Cyren found herself blubbering. Snape had basically planned her funeral and thrown her into the casket with his stupid proclamation of her crush—twice! He had said the word crush _twice._ Curse Snape, that horrid, filthy boy.

“I know you’ll get over it,” Sirius continued, and she stilled.

“We all do,” he prattled on, oblivious to his sister’s look of confusion and dismay, “But until then, we’ve all agreed to pretend we never heard Snape say anything about you having a thing for a particular tall, lanky Gryffindor.”

“Stop,” Cyren moaned into her hands, “You’re humiliating me.”

Inside, she was grateful that she could survive at least this with some of her pride intact. The boys were writing off her ‘crush’ as some light fling to be dismissed. She would get over it, they thought. Cyren could only pray that they were right, but there was no harm in playing along. It was the closest she would be able to come to the old times, before Snape had outed her. The boys could really be so dense sometimes, but as usual, it was in her favor. Leave it to them to dismiss a crush that had consumed nearly a third of her life within what was probably a few minutes.

“Peter said you’ve been in loooove with our dashing Remus for six years, but that’s absurd. He’s just exaggerating because he’s proud he caught on before any of us,” Sirius scoffed as he stood up, sounding very certain of himself.

There was the sound of voices coming up the stairs and that was his cue to go. Boys technically were not able to enter the girls’ dormitories, but Sirius always managed to sneak in whenever he needed to talk. Cyren didn’t really want to know how he knew, because she was certain that he had initially learned the trick for…different purposes with other people.

“Think about the Animagus offer. And read up on it, too; it’s a lot of commitment,” Sirius told her before he dashed out the door. 

She hadn’t even gotten a chance to say good bye or thank him for the food, but the next minute her roommates were spilling into the room. And who was Sirius to tell her to read?

 

//

 

The talk with Sirius lifted her spirits considerably—almost too much it seemed, because just hours ago she had felt devastated beyond repair. Her devious brother, she thought fondly, he knew she would forgive the Marauders. Nonetheless, his rawness could not have been premeditated and his sincerity left her smiling for the rest of the night.

Cyren was thoroughly exhausted after she finished her dinner but that didn’t deter her from creeping down to the kitchens to return the plate to the house elves. Upon seeing her still slightly puffy eyes, the house elves shoved a bag of sweets into her arms, tittering furiously.

“Who hurt Cyren Black?” Roggo asked angrily, brandishing a meat cleaver.

“Who hurt Cyren Black!” several other elves echoed, raising assorted knives and other sharp kitchen utensils into the air.

Cyren laughed sheepishly, wringing her hands. The image of Snape being pummeled to death in his bed by little house elves flickered through her mind.

“It was just a little fight with the Marauders. I cried a bit but my brother apologized and it’ll be alright.”

The kitchen weapons were lowered grudgingly, although she caught Roggo muttering something about ‘stupid wizards.’ Hopefully he wouldn’t charm sour milk to flood their dormitory, like he had last time, when they’d gone too far on a prank and accidentally killed a pet fish she’d found from the lake. The boys had smelled awful for a week and she hadn’t been able to stand within two feet of them without wanting to hurl.

“Mad at Mister Lupin, too, this time?” Biddy asked, slyly sliding a sugar cookie toward Cyren. 

Cyren nodded dumbly, “It accidentally came out that I liked him.”

The elves were silent with anticipation, some of them looking gleeful. There was another cookie nudging the back of her hand, which she accepted gratefully. The elves, particularly Biddy, knew that cookies were her alcohol—give Cyren a few and she would spill it all. Not that she wasn’t already transparent amongst the elves anyways.

“He doesn’t _like_ me like that, and he may not even see me as close of a friend as I had hoped. But it’s alright because all the boys think my crush is just some fleeting, ordinary thing, so we can pretend this all never happened.”

There were a chorus of sad sighs, and Biddy opened Cyren’s bag of sweets to pour even more goodies in. Some of the elves offered their condolences, patting her knee and squeezing her fingers. Her weak grin grew a bit stronger. She didn’t need Remus to like her. She would grow to accept that, and there was no shame in using sugar to ease the pain of rejection.

On the other hand, the bag was a bit hefty and difficult to lug back to the common room. She had not borrowed the Invisibility Cloak either, so she prayed that she would not run into any professors or Prefects.

Her silent prayers apparently fell on deaf ears, because a Prefect suddenly appeared in front of her on the very staircase she needed to connect to for getting back to the common room. Cyren contemplated missing the staircase and waiting for another path, but sometimes that could take forever. It was also just her luck that the Prefect just so happened to the Gryffindor Boys’ Prefect.  

Quietly, she stepped onto the staircase, head down, hoping Remus would ignore her.

A soft cough, a rustle of hands fidgeting against cloth. Remus coughed again and Cyren looked up guiltily.

“H-hi, Cyren,” Remus murmured quietly.

Her heart beat a little faster at the crystal-clear discomfort on his face. Despite that fact that the two of them did not want to be having any sort of conversation, he was still being cordial and acknowledging her. _How very Remus_ , she noted dismally.

The staircase connected to the ledge with the Fat Lady’s portrait, and Cyren reluctantly ascended, coming closer to the boy at the top of the stairs. Remus whispered the codeword, standing to the side as he waited for Cyren to enter first. She hated her heart for twisting when she walked by him, noticing that he was not looking at her. 

There was no one in the common room at this hour, and Cyren couldn’t help but quicken her step as she headed for the stairs. Behind her, she could hear Remus stopping abruptly. Before her foot touched the first step, he called out to her, sounding so saddened that she almost tripped herself. 

“If you can’t stand me that much, why did you take the vow?”

_Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck. I’ve hurt him; he thinks I see him as a monster._

His words made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in realization of the misunderstanding between them. Slowly, Cyren turned around but did not move any closer to the boy—there was absolutely no need to. They were about ten feet apart but speaking in small voices would make the conversation still fairly audible. She could barely make out his face from this distance in the dark, and that was for the better—she had hurt him, goddamnit.

“I don’t hate you,” Cyren gushed, “I could never. I did the vow because it was the best thing I could think of to guarantee Snape’s silence.”

Remus was quiet. _But what does that mean?_ he thought. _What’s changed between us, now that you know? Tell me if you’re going to avoid me, if we can’t be the same type of friends as before._

He wanted to come closer to her, to see her face. He felt as if he could always read her well enough, and it was killing him to be so unsure right now.

“So you just…don’t want to see me anymore?” he volunteered, like a student in class with an uncertain guess.

Cyren rolled her eyes, making a small chuffing sound as she shook her head.

“Merlin, you’re so—so unbelievable sometimes, Remus. No, I don’t hate your guts. I don’t care that you’re a-”

She paused when she saw Remus stiffening, and Cyren sighed, stopping herself. _No saying the w-word aloud, then_ , she noted to herself.

“Can we talk?” Remus blurted out in a small, nervous voice, gesturing toward the fireplace.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” Cyren chuckled, albeit good-naturedly.

His shoulders relaxed a bit as they both slowly made their way to the front of the fireplace, but his heart was hammering. Remus licked his dry lips, fumbling with his hands until he decided to put them both into his pockets. Cyren was only a few inches away from him, and a part of himself sighed in relief that she was not at all tense or disgusted in this closer proximity to his being. They didn’t look at each other, just stared straight down to the lazy, licking flames.

Stealing quick glances out of the corner of his eyes, he could see her face now illuminated in the firelight. Her eyes were slightly puffy from crying, not making him feel any better about the secret he had kept from her all these years. Sirius had already gone to talk to Cyren and come back reporting that she would be fine, but Remus knew he had to be brave, too. He had to try his best to sort things out between them, or risk losing one of his closest friends forever. So here he was, slack-jawed and on the verge of a panic attack. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out after a couple silent minutes.

“For what?”

A pregnant pause. Remus’s eyebrows smoothed back as a look of somewhat resigned conviction settled over his face.   

“For being a coward.”

Cyren’s eyebrows shot up lightly, and she shook her head at him.

“You’re not a coward. I understand that—that you didn’t want to tell me, and that’s alright. This isn’t any ordinary secret and it’s naïve of me to feel hurt.”

She couldn’t help but sound a little bitter and petulant, so Cyren hoped that Remus hadn’t picked up on the strain in her voice. No such luck though, because Remus was sensitive and always picked up on such things.

“I did—I did want to tell you,” he argued earnestly, “I really did. But I was afraid you’d hate me. So I am a coward, and stupid for doubting you in the first place. I shouldn’t have, I’m so sorry, Cyren.”

 His voice grew smaller at the end, and Cyren’s insides contorted at the desperation in his tone. She turned to face him, startled to find that he was already gazing at her.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Remus,” she argued shakily, “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

His eyes were shining and Cyren couldn’t handle it—she had been a little wrong in her assumptions of why Remus had not confided in her, and she was still a little hurt, but most of the insecurity was falling away now. Now it was just the most vulnerable Remus she’d ever seen standing right in front of her and she wanted nothing more than to squeeze him. Poke his stomach and tell him a million times over and over that everything would be alright, and she that could never, ever hate him. If anything, she was even more in love with him right now.

The last thought echoed in her mind and Cyren wondered how Remus would address that. It was what she had been dreading all these years, if Remus was to ever find out about her non-platonic feelings for him.

“Cy, I’m still sorry because all this made you cry—”

“Remus, shut up. You have nothing to apologize for at all. I’m just emotionally unstable,” Cyren nudged his side with her elbow playfully.

Finally, _finally_ a grin cracked across his miserable features. Cyren’s heart felt a little lighter at the appearance of the familiar smile. Things were all right now, and the two of them would be okay.

Remus had not expected Cyren to be so understanding. He felt as if it was all a dream, going too smoothly, not at all like the horrid scenarios he’d feared in his head. He still had one thing to clear up though, that moment from the afternoon when she’d asked him about being friends and he had acted like a startled deer caught in lights.

“And—and I just want you to know,” he began, drawing circles in the carpet with his right toe, “About earlier, when I didn’t answer you. I’ve always thought of you as a friend.”

Little did he know that Cyren was misinterpreting his words as complete dismissal of Snape’s announcement of her feelings, rejection of her feelings.

Sirius’s talk earlier had confirmed as much to her but Remus’s words drove the final nail into the coffin. Cyren congratulated herself on holding back a visible wince. _Friendzoned,_ she thought morosely. Just a friend. _Well, at least we’re that._

Her smile felt too strained and throat too tight, but she nodded enthusiastically at Remus anyway. Immediately after, she turned away from him, afraid Remus would see the cracks in her façade if she stayed any longer. In just a matter of seconds, her euphoria had been hacked down and she felt back at square one. This time though, she was too tired to cry anymore.

“I suppose we better get to bed now,” she suggested, trying to keep her voice light and casual.

Remus nodded agreeably, smiling softly at her before they both headed up the stairs.

“Good night, Cyren,” he whispered happily before he turned to the boys’ dormitory.

“Night, Remus,” Cyren echoed.

He couldn’t help but hear the weariness in her voice and wondered exactly how much she had cried. Remus was glad she had ignored the ‘crush’ statement though, mostly because he would have run away if the topic was brought up.

The idea of Cyren liking him was not that absurd, but there was no way Snape was telling the truth. Remus wondered where Snape had heard the particular rumor from; it was clearly exaggerated by any means. And Peter—six years, really? Now that was absurd. Even if Cyren had harbored any more-than friendly feelings toward him, he was sure they had dissipated today. While he was certain their friendship was intact, being good friends with a werewolf and dating one were two very different things. The latter would involve an increasingly unbearable amount of patience and commitment, and it was smart of Cyren to change her mind. She was smart. 

Still, the idea of being crushed on was a precious little tidbit he decided to hold onto and never let go. It was silly, but he wanted to keep it to himself. Thinking about Cyren liking _him_ made Remus feel all warm and bubbly inside, even if it was all just taking things out of context and pretending. He could keep on harvesting this little fantasy for as long as he wanted, even after Cyren inevitably stopped liking him—if she even really did in the first place—and liked someone else.

Someone who wasn’t a werewolf, or embarrassingly awkward and devastatingly nonconfrontational. It wasn’t false hope, Remus told himself, because he was very aware that he was lying to himself. It was just a guilty pleasure to pretend that maybe, under different circumstances in another world, Cyren could reciprocate his feelings. The idea made him unbearably giddy.

He had not allowed himself the luxury of even fathoming such a possibility before, when she didn’t even know what he truly was. But things had changed. He was not as strong as he believed and the temptation was too strong—imagine someone knowing that he was a werewolf and still loving him nonetheless. Someone who wasn’t obliged to, not his parents or platonic friends. Someone who loved him differently and _wanted_ to be with him.

Remus shivered pleasantly at the thought. It was all just pretend, but sometimes that was enough.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little premature/irrelevant in regards to the plot, but the song I'm listening to rn is "Opposite of Us" by Big Scary. I found it last night and it was a weird shift from listening to pretty much just Yung Lean this week. 
> 
> anyways, let me know if this chapter addressed anything from the last chapter that you were hoping for OR if there's still loose ends. i'm still sorta surprised the last chapter received so much feedback so I'm eager for your feelings. tell me all about em. 
> 
> stay wicked (AND STAY SAFE FOR UPCOMING MERCURY RETROGRADE FROM NOV 17-DEC 6),   
> taro ghost
> 
> P.S. THANK YOU VERY MUCH to everyoneeee who dropped a comment or kudos, thank you thank you i appreciate you greatly :O


	13. Bunnicula

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO sometimes I forget that it’s still sorta ‘angsty’ and have to go back and add in disclaimers to check all the weird fluff. hahah hopefully all the contradictions work counterintuitively because all im tryna convey is that feelings are a mess. mmm good old crush days where interacting with your one-sided crush makes you feel like a million bucks but also simultaneously like you will never be happy again in your entire life.

The Animagus learning process started immediately, any sense of awkwardness lost in the seriousness of the matter. Cyren had heard that the process was tricky, and although she hadn’t heard any specific stories like those of failed Apparitions, she didn’t want to find out exactly _how_ it could turn out wrong, either.

The worst part was the mandrake leaf, by far. She had to have the damn thing in her mouth for a whole month and it had already started tasting gross by the second day. By the second week, she had gotten more or less used to the bitter taste. The Marauders, ever the brilliant schemers, ruined her already-abysmal school reputation by telling everyone that Cyren had accidentally swallowed a frog while swimming in the Black Lake and gotten stuck with a serious case of oral warts. It kept the teachers from calling on her during class, but it also made a lot of students shoot her pitying or apprehensive looks in the halls.

Eating was also difficult with the leaf in her mouth all the time and Cyren was sure she had lost at least three pounds by the end of the month. Her mind often wandered to all the food she would be devouring as soon as this was all over. She hadn’t been able to visit the elves ever since the Animagus process started, with all the sweets they’d always offer.

Cyren was trying to remember exactly how crunchy her favorite gingersnaps were when someone knocked into her from behind. With a soft grunt, Cyren tumbled forward, books spilling out of her arms as her shoulder hit the wall. The student who’d bumped her, a Slytherin, glared at her when she refused to say sorry. She glared back.

The Slytherin whose name she couldn’t remember flared his nostrils in condescension at Cyren, who was still on the ground. Another consequence of the Animagus process was some bodily fatigue because she was eating less—how was she expected to maintain a healthy diet when she could only eat at the pace of a sloth?

“Cat got your tongue, Black?” the boy, who she now recalled as Lincoln Yurvant, sneered at her.

What was it with Slytherins and sneering all the time? Or boys and sneering in general, because Sirius and James could sneer plenty, too. Cyren flicked her wand at him, a nonverbal spell to temporarily mute the boy. A perk to being near-mute for a month was that she was learning Sirius’s nonverbals much more readily. When Yurvant had realized what she’d done he lunged down at her, but she scurried across the floor and hurriedly got to her feet. Cyren supposed it was a funny sight: a little figure scampering across the floor while simultaneously trying to get up to run. She almost tripped herself but managed to awkwardly hobble away from Yurvant.

At the portrait of the Fat Lady, Cyren was breathing heavily as black spots danced in her vision. She was sick of feeling tired all the time and having to chew everything with the caution and slowness of a toothless ninety-year-old. It wasn’t even chewing—it was a horrible mushing and sucking process that killed her appetite altogether. And now she had forgotten the password because her brain was so scattered.

“Pumpkin pasty,” a voice called out from behind her, and Cyren was too exhausted to even show any physical signs of being startled.

She did not grace Remus with a look. Why did it always have to be him to witness her in her moments of absolute weakness? Utterly embarrassing, really. She shuffled to the side, waiting for him to enter the common room first. A pair of brown shoes approached, but paused directly in front of her instead of continuing on over the threshold.

 _Damn it,_ Cyren cursed mentally.

She looked up reluctantly.

“Are you alright?” the boy asked, although it was quite obvious that she was out of breath.

He also noticed that her cheeks were flushed, although not in a particularly healthy way. Cyren’s eyes flitted across his face lazily, as if she’d just woken from a particularly soul-sucking nap.

“I’m…tired,” Cyren offered hesitantly, trying to stifle the whine that came off at the end of her words.

Remus’s eyes widened, also comically, as if she had just said she had been impaled by a unicorn.

“Are you…feeling faint?” Remus asked worriedly, “It’s because you’re not eating well, isn’t it?”

“Such a motherrr hen,” Cyren slurred, wrinkling her nose as another wave of fatigue washed over her.

Feeling particularly silly, she stumbled over the passageway and decided to sit down for a minute before heading up to her room. The stairs had never seemed as unappealing as they did in this moment.

The older boy frowned at Cyren’s most unceremonious plop into a beanbag—it wasn’t even her favorite chair.

“Would you like something to eat?” Remus volunteered, “I can go and grab some snacks. Or ask the house elves?”  
She shook her head loosely, but that only resulted in more light-headedness. _Great._

“You need to eat,” Remus pressed, “James fainted once during the process because of the same thing. I can go get some soup?”

The words sounded very tinny and distant in Cyren’s ears, but somehow ‘soup’ echoed in her mind. She chuckled weakly to herself at the thought of how nice and round the word ‘soup’ sounded.

“Fuckk food,” Cyren moaned as she threw her head back, “I can’t eat.”

Remus was not quite sure how to deal with the weak, languid-looking Black. While he had been initially worried, she seemed to be alright…so now she was rather cute, in her loopy, unguarded state. She was basically backwards-starfishing the beanbag and something about her slack body and weary voice reminded him of the time Sirius and James had gotten high on Muggle marijuana. The slurring shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise to him though, since carefully holding a mandrake leaf in your mouth generated a lot of excess saliva.

“It’s not even the food’s fault, it’s my mouth,” Cyren continued, “Fuck my mouthh.”

He swallowed, trying to ignore the last comment. He was definitely not thinking about Cyren’s mouth, and absolutely, definitely, not in that way.

He felt very guilty.

Cyren cracked an eye open, lazily surveying him after realizing he had gone awkwardly silent.

“Are you okay, Remus?” she drawled, squinting at him warily.

Her glasses were askew, and he utilized that observation as a distraction. She smiled feebly at him as he gently readjusted the wire frames on her face, even taking care to slide them down a little on her nose to the lower position she liked.

Remus’s fingers tingled as he shoved his hands into his pocket—the tip of his right forefinger, in particular, was haunted by the phantom feel of Cyren’s smooth face brushing against his fingers. It had been just a touch, lasting less than a fraction of a second, but his brain was stubbornly recycling the sensation.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” he asked her quietly.

He knew he was beating the thing to death; she had already said no and he could have just gone on his way up the stairs. At the same time, another part of him—the stupider part with absolutely no self-preservation instincts—was purposely dragging this interaction out.

Their relationship was very clearly strained, and he wasn’t sure if it was due to the convenient flurry of exams the past two weeks or if Cyren was purposely avoiding him. Either way, they had not been talking as much as they had in the past, and Remus felt pathetic in admitting that he was starving to talk to her.

So here he was, hanging around uncertainly, hoping that maybe they could strike up a conversation just like old times. It wasn’t that she was cold to him—she treated him just the same, and addressed him, answered his questions. Yet somehow it wasn’t enough. Remus felt as if they didn’t see each other as much, and when they did, it was always at meals or in the presence of at least one other Marauder. There were no more study sessions in the library with just the two of them, and no more late-night talks in the common room.

To make matters worse, he was still helplessly stoking the idea of Cyren liking him back like a private fire. It was especially bad at night in bed. Falling asleep like this felt awful, he had discovered. His heart was simultaneously skipping, overjoyed, while being pierced with self-hatred and a million fears. Remus could never keep the stupid smile on his face from growing in the dark, his hands clenching his blanket tightly. In the daytime, he usually avoided such shameful indulgences, but he had caught himself slipping in class a couple times.

In a Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture about Dementors, his stupid brain had latched onto the word “kiss” and spiraled into daydreams about what lips against lips must feel like—with Cyren of course, not a Dementor. James had given him a rather dismayed look when he saw the dreamy contemplation on Remus’s face as the professor rambled on about how the Kiss was basically getting your soul sucked out from your body.

Lips were quite dangerous territory to lose yourself in, he decided.

“I’m not hungry,” Cyren affirmed, and he felt some disappointment because he would have to leave now.

But she was suddenly giving him a petulant look, the kind she usually put on when she wanted to plead for something from the Marauders—usually getting them to buy sweets for her. Remus’s heart skipped a beat. He’d do anything for her, even more so now in the hopes of restoring their friendship back to its fullest.

In a split second, the look was gone and aloofness washed over Cyren’s face as she tilted her head up to the ceiling. If he had blinked a second too early, he would have missed the moment of vulnerability altogether—or was he hallucinating, seeing things that he _wanted_ , wished to see?

Some strange recklessness stirred inside of him, and the impulsivity scared Remus. He was not impulsive. Yet he fished the chocolate bar out of his robes nonetheless, offering it hesitantly to Cyren.

 _She already said she’s not hungry, you creepy dingus. Go run up to your room now,_ a voice scolded internally.

Remus was trying very hard not to let his hands shake too visibly as Cyren eyed the bar warily. A slow, lazy grin tugged at the corners of her mouth—which he was definitely not still thinking about, and his stomach did not flip inside out at the thought of having conjured that smile—and she nodded slightly.

“Heheh, exception. Your chocolate always makes me feel better.”

The _‘your’_ exploded in his head like fireworks. _His_ chocolate, he mused. Also _‘always.’_ His chocolate always made her feel better? He could barely believe it, and in his elation Remus broke off a piece of chocolate sloppily—missing the indented marks and ending up with a jagged one-and-a-half piece. He whispered a soft curse as a dash of heat crept up into his cheeks. This was breaking chocolate, for Merlin’s sake—which he had done millions of times!—and he was getting performance anxiety.

Cyren watched him, smiling to herself at the concentration in his face. Remus was biting his bottom lip as he carefully broke off another piece of chocolate. She almost let out some quip about him being a perfectionist but held the words back. There was still something strange between the two of them, and they were somehow less now. Less close, less words. The feelings were the only thing that had grown, on her part anyways. Those feelings were ghastly, and burgeoning, and just more.

“Here you go,” Remus offered a cleanly-broken slab of chocolate to her, a generous four squares.

Internally, he cringed at the formality in his voice. Did offering chocolate to a friend really require “Here you go?” He couldn’t ever recall saying that to Cyren during all the other times he’d given her chocolate, and it struck his as particularly forced and awkward the more he thought of it. The self-deprecation began to spiral uncontrollably, until their hands brushed against each other.

Touching hands with another person really shouldn’t have shocked him so, even if it was Cyren (he’d touched her hand before, hadn’t he?), but he somehow managed to drop the chocolate nonetheless. In his defense though, he’d misjudged her readiness so maybe she’d dropped it, the chocolate slipping through her fingers…prematurely?

“Ugh,” was Cyren’s monosyllabic response to the chocolate on her lap.

She made no move to pick it up, and instead rolled her eyes, disgusted by her ineptness.

“I’m so weak,” she groaned, laying a dramatic hand over her eyes.

Remus shifted his feet nervously when she still made no move to touch the chocolate.

“Do you need help?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Damn that Gryffindor courage. He wanted to flee upstairs and strangle himself in his sheets—but instead, he was standing here wading deeper and deeper into his own embarrassment.

“Yes, please break this chocolate with your strong hands,” Cyren replied tiredly.

Remus studied the chocolate on her thigh, trying to calculate the best angle to snatch the piece in order to minimize the amount of surface area of Cyren’s leg that his hand would inevitably come in contact with.

His heart was bellowing.

She was seemingly unaware as he bent down to carefully picked the chocolate off her lap, the back of her hand still over her eyes. His heart rate doubled as he broke the piece into halves. The racing tripled at the crack of one half being split into two squares. Quadrupled at the final crack of the last two squares being separated. He could barely breathe and was very grateful that Cyren was not looking at him—or maybe she was, through her fingers, but she was seemingly oblivious to his suffering.

“Want me to feed you?”

Under her fingers, Cyren’s eyes narrowed at the plain question. Fucking Remus, always so generous and nice. And fucking oblivious to how she felt at every other thing he did. She was grateful that she was still so winded from running back to the common room that her body couldn’t even tense up at the offer. Under normal circumstances she might have gone into anaphylactic shock because as much as she loved Remus, coming into physical contact with him produced quite allergic reactions—internally, anyways. And (sometimes) inexplicable heating of the body in numerous spots.

“Thanks, Remus,” she breathed softly.

The hand still over her eyes—for the better, really, so he wouldn’t be able to see the terror in her eyes—Cyren opened her mouth fractionally. If she had been looking, she would have seen Remus’s own eyes widening enormously. His heart was so loud he wondered why she hadn’t commented on it. The booming heartbeats had to be audible; he felt as if the organ was going to break out of his chest any moment now. Remus was also certain he was going to die if he stayed by her side any longer, yet he couldn’t find it in him to leave.

Remus stepped forward, so that his right calf pressed gently against the beanbag. He knelt down, his arm trembling pathetically as his hand hovered over her open lips. He tapped an edge of the first square against her bottom lip, to let her know. There was a small quirk, a grin, as Cyren’s mouth opened the slightest bit more, and he slid the chocolate square in.

This was highly inappropriate, he decided, as he quietly watched Cyren’s mouth move. The movements were subtle as she let the chocolate melt on her tongue—there wasn’t any other way to eat it without crushing up the mandrake leaf, too—although occasionally she would run her tongue against the roof of her mouth, or suck on the square gently.

Their quiet, ritualistic process extended for what seemed like millennia to both of them as the next three squares disappeared in similar fashion. When Remus’s hands were empty, he saw a smidge of melted chocolate on the edge of his right hand and cursed himself.

“Sorry if they got a little soft at the end?” he found himself apologizing rushedly, “Mypalmsgotreallywarm.”

He wasn’t sure if Cyren comprehended or not, but she chuckled as she smacked her lips. The sound echoed in his ears—or was it his own blood pounding? Cyren lifted the hand off her face and she smiled gently at him.

“Sorry for being temporarily invalid. You don’t have to be so nice, you know,” Cyren murmured to him, “I don’t hate you.”

“I know,” he blurted, even though he didn’t believe himself, “I just wanted to.”

The second part was truth, and also too much of a confession for his own comfort. Abort, abort, abort, his brain screamed, _RUN AWAY._ He needed a restraining order on his mouth.

She was looking at him strangely and Remus was at a loss for how she truly felt. Her head was lying on top of crossed arms now, her torso turned toward him as Cyren gazed at him with an aloof and slightly exhausted look. He, on the other hand, felt very uncool and flustered. Cyren must have mistook his internal breakdown for something else because she looked apologetic as she waved him away.

“Sorry for keeping you so long. Thanks for looking out for me, Remus,” she murmured.

The words got slurred in the end because of the accumulation of saliva in her mouth, which Cyren sheepishly tried to clear by discreetly swallowing. Remus gave some sort of nod and left, his steps up the stairs sounding strangely disjointed.

When she was sure he was gone, Cyren groaned aloud, slapping her hand over her eyes again—much harder this time though. She facepalmed herself repeatedly, hitting her forehead in frustration.

_Yes, please break this chocolate with your strong hands?! STRONG HANDS??_

That was the cringiest sentence she’d ever uttered, probably, and there were a lot of questionable things that came out from her mouth. And then the chocolate-feeding. He had _hand-fed_ her. Cyren thought about how his finger had accidentally brushed against her top lip after giving her the second piece, and how it had taken all her willpower to _not_ think about licking his fingers.

Well, now he was gone, and she was thinking about Remus’s fingers in her mouth. It was uncomfortable sexual imagery she had never really subscribed to until just minutes ago. Having someone’s fingers in your mouth in a sexual context had never really seemed relatable—what was so appealing about sucking someone’s fingers? It had always seemed like awkward and not at all sexy. Now, she was over the moon at the thought of his hands that close to her to mouth—even if it was a totally platonic and nonsexual activity on his part.

Cyren groaned again at her hopelessness. Hormones were truly the most terrible thing to have ever happened to her. Remus stood no chance in the merciless environment of her freakish brain; she felt as if she was defiling the pure cinnamon roll just by thinking about his hands.

What was even more horrible about this whole thing was that Remus didn’t even like her like that, so she was consciously overreacting. There were no romantic gestures whatsoever; yet her pathetic, deprived self was acting as if there was some possibility that her crush on Remus could become something more. As if this wasn’t already clearly all in vain.

 _Stupid brain,_ Cyren thought to herself, _it’s very much over._

Trudging up the stairs, Cyren tried to repeat her new mantra in her head with every step. _We’re just friends. We’re. Just. Friends._

It was not something her heart was entirely on board with yet and she doubted that she would ever be able to wholly convince herself of this—at least that’s how hopeless she felt in this moment. Cyren let out a deep sigh at the top of the staircase. Perhaps it felt impossible in the moment, but she had lived with Walburga for much longer than she had liked Remus. She would get over this too; she would make it out all right.

At the same time, she was very far from accepting that she would someday be attracted to someone who wasn’t Remus. The idea was appalling. Who could be better than Remus? He wasn’t absolute perfection, but he was pretty damn close in her eyes.

//

Nervous was quite an understatement for how Cyren was feeling right now. Her legs were shaking uncontrollably—and she had already sat down in a failed attempt to stop the freakish limbs!

“Jeez, Cy. You know we can’t let you start until you calm down a little; you could seriously hurt—”

“I’m _trying_ , James,” Cyren whined.

“Why are you so scared?” Peter asked, and he sounded like her fear was contagious, “I don’t think even _I_ was this scared.”

“It’s not just fear, I’m also excited,” Cyren answered in a clipped tone.

She growled at her jiggling legs and slammed a hand down on her thigh in an attempt to still herself. It did not work.

“You still don’t know your Patronus,” Remus said softly, then raised an eyebrow to confirm with her.

Cyren nodded back at him.

“But then this is good right?” Sirius demanded, driving his hands through his hair, “You transform, and whatever your Animagus is could very well be your Patronus.”

“But-but what if I turn into a mandrake?”

Sirius barked out a laugh. He quite actually did bark it out, because the ending warbled into actual woofs and there was a giant, black dog sitting where he was standing only seconds ago.

“Showing off isn’t going to make her feel any better,” Remus scolded Sirius lightly, but the dog only rolled his eyes.

Her brother stared expectantly at her, and she hated how absolutely nothing got lost in translation, even while he was in this form. As cute as Padfoot had looked at first, his charm had worn off when Cyren realized he was still her brother and still just as annoying.

“I don’t think you can turn into a mandrake,” James offered, patting her on the shoulder, “Just take some breaths and do it. We’ve taught you everything and it’ll be easy, you’ll see.”

With that, James shifted into the stag, and now she had two Animagi staring expectantly at her. Cyren groaned and looked pleadingly at Peter. She knew she was as ready as she would ever be, but that didn’t make her feel any less scared.

“You’re going to be fiiine!” Peter chirped, and then he was a rat.

Cyren groaned for the umpteenth time, rubbing her temples as she tried to slow her breathing and calm down. An apprehensive hand patted her on the shoulder and she shot Remus a sheepish grin. He beamed back at her, the smile unfurling poorly repressed _feelings_ in the pit of her stomach.

“Okay, okay. I can do this,” she said pointedly at Padfoot, who had the audacity to roll his eyes at her.

Remus shot her another small smile to assure her, and after yet another pat on her shoulder, he stepped back to observe alongside the other Marauders. The feeling of his fingers on her shoulder lingered for much longer than she thought possible. It was probably not healthy.

Cyren closed her eyes, focusing, focusing, focusing. Focus. This was very important.

She felt the shift slide over her body, a rippling that covered every inch of her skin. The whole-body tingling was still fading away when a cacophony of barking and high-pitched squeaks burst through the air. Shocked, Cyren opened her eyes to see Padfoot and Wormtail…laughing? James— _no, Prongs,_ —was making deep chuffing sounds, and Cyren panicked. She glanced down at herself, dreading the worst.

She wasn’t a mandrake, but she was small. Remus towered over her, and it appeared that she was barely above his ankles. There was fur—lots of black fur—but it was sleeker than a dog’s and her paws and legs were slimmer.

Four legs. Sleek, black fur. Small. _WHAT AM I??_

Her heart was jackrabbiting, and suddenly being swooped into the air did not help her confusion. Cyren squirmed in human-Sirius’s hands, wishing she could punch him.

“Now, don’t turn back now until you’re calmer. Bet you still don’t know what you are yet,” Sirius told her.

He was laughing so hard that his voice came out strangled and breathy. She stilled, glaring at him with all her might.

“A-a—a,” Peter was doubled over on the ground, also back in human form, “a rabbit! Cy’s a rabbit!”

 _A rabbit._ Cyren didn’t know anything about rabbits, except that they had lots of sex and their poop came out as weird, round pellets. Why the fuck was her Animagus a rabbit?

“Why a rabbit?” James asked, echoing her confusion aloud.  
“It’s small, I guess. Like her. And they can be pretty hyper,” Peter quipped, “Do rabbits eat a lot of sugar?”

She tried to jump out of Sirius’s arms as he scratched her behind the ears, but instead found herself handed off to James.

“I don’t think so. Pity though, all this training and work just to have her get eaten by Moony,” James joked.

A look of terror flashed across Remus’s face and Cyren didn’t want to know if he had ever eaten rabbits.

“PUT ME DOWN!” Cyren yelled, but she was horrified to hear only squeaking sounds come out.

While she was ecstatic the transformation had gone splendidly, she did not like that she was much smaller than the rest of them and that they were all touching her now like she was some pet. To be fair, rabbits were small, pettable things but she was still furious.

“I think she wants you to put her down,” Remus guessed, furrowing his eyebrows at the unintelligible squeaking and thrashing rabbit in James’s arms.

“Remus! Why do you think Cyren’s a rabbit?” James asked, holding said rabbit out in the air, Lion King-style.

“We need a name for her, too,” Peter reminded them, clutching his stomach, “Carrot?”

Cyren glared at him. No way in hell would she be named Carrot. At the same time, cool names for a rabbit were pretty limited.

“Should we really be naming her if she’s going to be eaten soon?” James asked, peering at Cyren.

She squirmed again, but when he tightened his grip, some strange instinct rushed through her. In a fraction of a second, she clamped her small mouth down on his hand and bit him. Her teeth had barely broken through the skin when James let out a yelp and dropped her.

Cyren let out a squeak as she hit the ground head-first, rolling around ungracefully before she could get back on all-fours.

“What happened?” Sirius demanded.

“She bit me!”

Peter only erupted into more laughter and Cyren could see that Remus was trying to hide his smile. She bared her teeth at James when he glared at her while rubbing his hand.

“Bunnicula!” Peter yelled unceremoniously.

It was a horrible name, but Cyren could see that the Marauders liked it. She groaned, but the sound came out as some guttural growling.

“Yeah, the vampire bunny. She’s gonna drain us of our blood in our sleep,” Sirius moaned sarcastically, waggling his fingers.

James backed away from Cyren as she hopped forward, “I think it suits her.”

“I think it’s an awfully long name,” was all Remus had to say.

“Well, how could you shorten it?” Sirius demanded.

There was silence as Remus contemplated. Cyren wondered how many _more_ weird looks she would be getting now when other students heard the Marauders calling her _Bunnicula_.

“Bunbun?” Peter offered, and Cyren wanted to bite him.

She wanted to bite everyone.

Remus accidentally blurted out the only thing that had been in his mind since seeing Cyren’s Animagus form: “It’s cute.”

Peter, still on the ground, curled himself into a tighter fetal position as he howled in laughter.

“I—I mean, she’s cute. Not ‘it,’—but not like Cyren, I mean-of course—rabbits are cute, aren’t they?”

His face felt like it was heating up a thousand degrees with each stuttered utterance, and Remus wanted nothing more than to flee. Thankfully, Peter and Sirius were too busy laughing to notice.

“Bunbun!” Sirius howled in Cyren’s direction.

His sister leapt at him. But, unaccustomed to her new body, Cyren was extremely terrified as she found herself launching through the air. It was only a couple feet, but to her rabbit form, she felt like she was leaping several hundred feet. She landed on Sirius’s face, and he toppled backwards onto James. They became a tangle of limbs as she swatted at her brother’s face—he was still laughing at her and she had never felt so much fury. It was probably because all the anger was concentrated in an even smaller body than she was used to.

Peter and Remus stood off to the side, watching the spectacle warily.

“Cute, huh,” Peter asked quietly, elbowing Remus’s side.

Remus’s mouth went dry as he struggled to find the right words to defend himself, to lie, to cover up.

“O-of course she is. She’s adorable,” he said as nonchalantly as possible; he would try to play it off as an innocent remark. Cyren wasn’t unattractive by any means.

Peter grinned at him, before stilling and peering at him conspiratorially, “I’m actually not worried that you’d eat rabbit-Cyren,” he murmured.

Remus smiled back at Peter, glad that the “cute” incident had been navigated rather smoothly. Peter was often reasonable, especially in comparison to James and Sirius.

“I think you’d rather eat her _out_ ,” Peter remarked flatly, eyes shining with mischief.

Apparently Remus was wrong in his judgment of Peter. _Very wrong._ He found it hard to breathe, and Peter could sense his anxiety from the blush blooming across the taller boy’s cheeks.

“Oi! What’s going on over there? You couldn’t help us out?” James hollered.

Cyren was back in human form now, with Sirius and James looking quite ruffled up and breathless. Remus’s embarrassment at Peter’s explicit words was making him feel unbearably warm, he couldn’t stand being next to the boy for a second longer. He was barely holding himself together, trying not to be a red, blubbering mess and trying not to think about Cyren in that context.

He ran for the castle.

“Remus!” James called after him, but he only sped up.

He’d go to the infirmary and check himself in a little early. Pomfrey wouldn’t question it.

“What happened to Remus?” Sirius asked Peter concernedly.

The smaller boy shrugged casually, “He was starting to feel worse.”

The other boys nodded, and Cyren was reminded that it was almost the full moon—four more days. Remus had been looking peaky today, and she knew he usually went to stay in the infirmary a couple days before and after the shift. She let out a worried sigh. Now that she knew the truth, would it be alright to visit him in the infirmary? Would it be weird? Would she mess it up somehow?

“We can visit him later after dinner,” Sirius declared to the boys, and he gave Cyren an affirmative nod when she glanced at him.

Something inside of her soared at the inclusion. As the boys headed back for the castle, Cyren tried to squash the grin that was tugging at her mouth. She was an Animagus now, and questionable animal symbolism aside, she had done it. There were no missing limbs, no blood, nothing that had gone wrong. She could be with the Marauders on full moons now and sneak out of the castle without James’s cloak. A shiver ran through her body at the thought of how illegal this all was. An _unregistered_ Animagus. It was probably the coolest thing she’d ever done in her life.

Even if Bunbun was a bad name, it probably wasn’t as bad as Wormtail. _And_ at least Remus thought it was a cute name.

 _Just the name,_ Cyren reminded herself sternly as her thoughts threatened to veer off into romanticized over-analysis. He hadn’t been talking about her physical appearance at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you’re wondering what kind of rabbit/hare (what is the difference?) Cyren is, I think a black otter rex rabbit is the best? for her black hair. also really cringey chocolate scene. failed fluff? give me your thoughts. 
> 
> also, posting a little early. i apologize, but i will not be posting the next update on time because of finals. you can expect it before the end of december though, IDEALLY. this chapter is the last finished chapter i have, so i'll get started on chapter 14 as soon as exams are over (hopefully!) and a bunch more of later chapters too. 
> 
> this week has been very horrible to me so the delay is also a personal break/i feel like i need to recalibrate myself and my writing. 
> 
> to anyone else going through exams--good luck & try to remember to eat and sleep and drink some tea. you'll get through it. :/


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